


Beastly Beauty and Beautiful Beast

by Sleepless_in_Starbucks



Category: Beauty and the Beast (1991), Beauty and the Beast (2017), Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Beauty and the Beast AU, Facial Burns, M/M, Minor descriptions of injuries, Self-Esteem Issues, Swearing, Sympathetic Deceit Sanders, Yelling, but still, facial scarring, no one asked for it, not a lot of songs, some minor descriptions of violence, song lyric changing, very very light maybe minor logicality near the very end, yet here it is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-05-28 14:23:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 37,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19395964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sleepless_in_Starbucks/pseuds/Sleepless_in_Starbucks
Summary: Darrell was the prettiest boy in town.Roman was a dashing prince.But when unfortunate circumstances both leave them feeling like shadows of their former selves, everything they thought they knew about their lives changed.What happens to the tale as old as time when no one thinks they're the beauty?AKA The Beauty and the Beast AU no one asked for but I still delivered.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Mentions of death, mentions of plague, body horror (of a form), body altercation (of a form)  
> Tell me if I need to add anything!

When the plague broke out in France, Father had to run.

He wanted to stay, for the house he had grown up in, for the husband who was too weak to leave with him, but he couldn't.

Darrell couldn't stay there, that's why Father ran. His husband... it was too late for him. But for their son, it wasn't.

So he left. He took what possessions he knew were uninfected, said what goodbye he could to his husband, and left with Darrell tucked securely in the basket he ran away with.

They found a tiny town, far from the main cities where the infection spread like gossip, and they built themselves a new life there.

A little cottage on the edge of a little town.

And as Father settled down into the life as an inventor, with little Darrell watching everything he did like it was magic from the age of one to the age of twenty, he was sure that here they'd be safe. Here they'd be happy. Here, they could live happily without the ever-present fear of separation.

But even small towns have their secrets, hidden just out of sight…

~~

Roman sighed and rubbed at his eyes. It was so awfully late. Who was knocking at his door at such a dead hour?

He glanced down the hallways he passed in the castle with seemingly no end in sight. Where were his servants? How heavily sleeping were they that they didn't hear the rude visitor?

Normally Roman would have fetched them, made them get the door as they were paid to do, but late night wanderings found him close enough to the door the walk to get servants would have been the bigger bother anyways.

Approaching the huge wooden doors with golden handles that cost more than most houses in the nearest village underneath his rule, Roman pulled one open with no little effort (how heavy were these things?) and came face-to-face with the late night visitor.

It was a beggar.

The gnarled man looked up at Roman, his ragged cloak dirty and torn covering most of his body. His face was wrinkled and old, covered in hardened mud and scratches. His twisted hands rested upon a splintering staff.

Roman didn't bother to hold back the groan that instantly came to his lips. This? Really? He understood beggars existed, he understood in such harsh weather as this they might seek shelter, but at a castle? That was equally bold and sad.

"Good sir," The beggar began, voice rough yet his tone formal, "I have come to seek shelter from the storm."

Roman pulled back slightly, a gust of wind blowing water into his face and speckling his expensive pjs. "I'm not surprised."

"May I-"

Roman interrupted him. "I'm afraid not. This is a castle, peasant, you can't just wander in at any time."

"Ah, but I can pay." The beggar said, reaching into his rags. Roman expected him to pull out a bag of gold, something that might have been impressive to someone who wasn't a Prince, but instead it was a rose. Despite the storm and the one carrying it, the rose's stem was unbroken and its petals were practically glowing a bright red.

"A... rose?" Roman said, bewildered. This beggar wanted shelter in the kingdom in exchange for a rose, one that could be found in any properly kept garden?

"I only ask to stay a night, good sir." The beggar said, offering the rose closer to Roman.

The beggar hadn't even figured out he was the Prince! Roman realized he wasn't wearing his crown- it was much too late for that weighty thing- but still! He had a regal figure.

"You'll have to go." Roman said curtly. "This is a castle, not a charity. We have a garden of roses; it isn't a form of payment."

"I'd advise you to reconsider." The beggar said much too presumptuously for Roman's taste. "It is worth more than it seems."

Roman rubbed the bridge of his nose. "It cannot be avoided- peasant, this, I repeat, is a castle. Its halls are roamed by the highest of the high and I simply cannot have a common beggar dirtying it. Leave, before I wake my staff."

The beggar's eyebrows rose briefly before his face returned to one of no emotion. "So be it." He said simply. Roman began to close the door.

But the beggar didn't turn and leave.

Instead, he gripped his staff tighter and stood up straight. His dirty rags fell from his shoulders and turned to a dark fog as they did, surrounding him even as the storm raged on.

As Roman watched, around the man and around him alone the rain stopped falling as the fog swirled and lifted, leaving behind, to Roman, a complete stranger.

The stranger's new cloak was long and fine, made of a dark blue material covered with silver dots that glowed like real stars. Matching eyeshadow stood starkly beneath boring grey eyes that seemed to hold universes within them. The old staff was now smooth, the only cracks that ran through it filled with an energy that glowed dangerously against the dark night.

"Prince Roman Amare, you have shown me your heart is as cold as the night you would leave one of your subjects to fend for themselves within."

The stranger's voice echoed through the night and into Roman's bones.

"For that, you will bear my curse."

Roman fell to his knees. "Please." He muttered, suddenly aware of the true situation. "Don't."

The stranger raised his arms. His staff glowed brighter and Roman could feel in a way he couldn't put into words that he was changing. His skin was beginning to itch.

"Please." He said again, wincing at the way his voice crack sounded like a snarl. A snarl? Why was he snarling?

The stranger looked down upon Roman, no forgiveness in his eyes. "My pleas fell deaf upon your ears. Why should I hear yours now?"

 _Because I'm a Prince._ Roman thought immediately, but he couldn't force the words out. Was it because he realized how silly it was? How lame it sounded now, before this sorcerer? Or was it because of what was happening to him now? Would he never speak again?

It didn't matter. The sorcerer clearly didn't care what his answer would come out to be, the fog around him continuing to spread out and past him, into his castle.

_What would it do to his home? To the servants within?_

With a nod at the fog and the Prince, the sorcerer slipped his staff back within his cloak, pulling back out the rose from before. It was just as it had been, magically beautiful.

"This rose, with every day that passes, will wilt." The sorcerer said, his voice monotone as he dropped the flower before Roman. "And upon your twenty-first birthday, it will die. With its death, my curse and all its repercussions shall become permanent."

"Is there-" Roman stopped to cough. What was wrong with his voice? When did it become so gruff? "Is there anything I can do?"

The sorcerer crouched before Roman, his expression a mix of cruelty and sorrow. "Fall in love." He said simply. "And be loved back in return."

And with that, the sorcerer straightened up once more, turned, and walked away. He faded away into the night, leaving the storm raging behind him.

"Fall in love? Be loved back in return?" Roman repeated in the silence, pushing himself to his feet. He was a Prince. Men (and women too, he supposed) fell at his feet before him. What trouble could it be to fall in love with one of them?

Roman laughed. The sorcerer was a fool. All for the better.

Now to find out what this curse was about. His skin still felt odd- was it itchy skin? Was this a prankster sorcerer? Figures.

That would explain the odd gait he had now, Roman figured as he headed down the hallway, feeling as if all his weight was focused on the front of his feet. But it didn't matter, they were all little things, little things- aha! There was a mirror! A quick glance to see if he, perhaps, now had green skin and he would be-

He stopped before the mirror.

No.

Roman reached a hand to his face, hoping to find he was tricking himself, but the surface bristled as he brushed it.

_No._

He looked down, at the now ripped pjs over his new- his new what? Form?

**_No!_ **

"Do you see now?" Roman's gaze was torn from his self to the corner of the mirror. The sorcerer was there, a smug grin on his face.

"What have you done?!" Roman demanded, wishing he could claw at that face.

"You judged me based on my appearance." Came the response, too calm for Roman's liking. "Now everyone else will do the same for you."

"You're a monster."

The sorcerer's grin grew a degree. "Have you looked in the mirror?"

Roman roared, a sound he could now literally make, and smashed the mirror. Glass flew across the foyer, the pieces that hit Roman bouncing harmlessly off his thick hide.

"And if you're unhappy about that," Roman looked down, and the sorcerer was still there, his face reflected in every shard, a slight laugh already rolling off his tongue, "just wait til you see how you've doomed the rest of them."

As if on cue, Roman heard screams from down the hall, all in the direction of the servants' quarters. He glanced back at the mirror, but the sorcerer was no longer there.

Roman forced himself away from the shards and towards the screams. It didn't matter how he had treated them in the past, Roman didn't want his servants hurt. And besides that, he had to know:

Were they monsters now, too?


	2. The Incident

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darrell's the prettiest boy in town, with eyes on the most courted boy in town.  
> It'd be a shame if something happened to change any of that...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Things going horribly wrong, fire, pain, going unconscious  
> If I need to add anything let me know!

Darrell ran his fingers along the spines of the ten books sat on the vicar's shelf. By feel alone he could name them all, heck, he could probably quote most of them by heart. It was one of the cons to living in such a small town- there weren't many new books.

But that was okay. Darrell would reread and re-reread what stories he had access to, and he found it unlikely he'd ever grow bored of them.

"Care to make a choice, Darrell?"

Darrell spun from the shelf with a smile at the old friend, and the only other person in the village (aside from Father) who understood the value of a good book.

"Apologies, Vicar, but they're all so good." He said, fingers still running along shelf.

"I am aware." The vicar returned with a grin. "But I have to believe you've got something better to do than hang around my dusty old Church all day."

"Oh, not really." Darrell replied, though he did slip a book out of the line. This one was about a prince and a girl. The heteronormativity was a minor downfall of the book, but the plot was solid. "I suppose there might be a few hearts to break, though I think most of them are already shattered."

The vicar shook his head with a familiar sigh and pulled open the door. "Get out of here, troublemaker."

"Heartbreaker." Darrell corrected as he acquiesced to the demand, book held tight in hand. "And thanks again."

"Always happy to lend a book to the only person in the village who will ask for one." The vicar responded as Darrell stepped out onto the street. Darrell gave him a small wave as he headed on his way.

It was another beautiful, summer day. People were washing their clothes, shepherds were herding their flocks through the streets, and children were darting through the market between their parents legs to play with each other.

And, as always, everyone took a moment to greet Darrell as he passed.

Father used to joke everyone thought Darrell was handsome because the city had ugly genes. Darrell would always return that just because Father hadn't found another cutie to marry didn't make everyone in the town ugly.

With a smile, Father would say it totally did.

Ugly genes didn't really cover the fact that there had yet to be an eligible bachelor or bachelorette in his age range who hadn’t tried to woo him. Given he was mostly a useless bookworm who stayed home and was called, by the bitterly rejected, a funny boy, he had to chock it up to looks and looks alone.

"Heya Darrell!" Prime example: Patton LeGume. Most pinned over boy in the town. Darrell always got hit on, sure, but when it came to constantly and persistently being chased by people, Patton took the cake by a landslide.

Patton helped out at the bakery his parents ran, and the top courters always loitered around it, talking in hushed whispers about how good he looked when the sweat glistened on his brow and his biceps.

And, well, the fact that the very gay Darrell always started his day by passing by for a loaf was no coincidence.

Patton was also more than adept at finding edible herbs in the forest, and while he didn't care much for hunting, he was the sharpest shot in town. He was both a trophy husband and a breadwinner, and anyone in town would be lucky if he picked them to marry.

Darrell had yet to figure out why Patton was so nice to him, but he was yet to complain. Hey, if the man who had everything decided to pick the second prettiest man in town, Darrell was not going to fight it.

He waved a hand at Patton, having gotten caught off-guard by the nice man's random but bright greetings enough to mostly stop blushing when called out.

Mostly.

Patton broke away from the group he was talking with, much to the obvious displeasure of its members, to join Darrell.

"How are you doing today, Darrell?" Patton asked as he fell in step with him.

"Pretty good." Darrell replied, careful not to glance over awkwardly (gaily) at Patton. "Yourself."

"Great!" Patton said. He gestured at Darrell's book. "What's the book today?"

"Oh, just one of the old ones." Darrell replied, glancing at the book as if he didn't already know what it looked like. "Romance story, secret prince, that sort of thing."

"Intriguing." Patton said with a grin. "Are all your books so exciting?"

"In my opinion, yes." Darrell said eagerly.

Patton sighed. "I wish I could read. I'd love to know those stories."

Darrell fidgeted. "Well... if you ever have the time... I could read some of them to you...?"

Patton nodded immediately. "Oh, I'd love that!" He exclaimed, grabbing Darrell's hands out of excitement. Darrell willed his palms not to become sweaty. "Are you free tomorrow afternoon?"

_ For you, always _ Darrell thought before properly responding, "I think so, yeah." He was particularly proud of the fact he didn't stutter his response.

"Perfect!" Patton let go of his hands to clap them together. "I'll see you then!"

"Uh, yeah. Bye." Darrell called out after Patton as he hurried away towards the bakery. He raised his free hand to his cheek. Damn, he was blushing hard.

With a lingering-a-bit-too-long glance at Patton's back as he turned a corner, Darrell hurried out of the main boundaries of the town to the house a few yards from the rest of them.

The cottage was similar to all the others in the village, the main difference being the basement door inset next to it. There wasn't room for it on every house in the village.

There was also the piles of scrap sitting around it, none of it trash, all of it simply waiting for Father to build it into something fairly dangerous yet incredibly inventive.

Darrell went for the basement door, propping it open as he headed down into the enclosed space. The stone walls were incredibly familiar, even with the new scorch marks they got every week. At the bottom of the steps, Darrell glanced around, looking for the haphazard machine his Father was working on today.

"Oh, 'El!" Father called out, the nickname from when Darrell couldn't even kinda mange the first half of his name apparently never forgotten.

Darrell headed towards the corner of the room the voice had come from, his Father not currently in sight. As Darrell got closer to the cart with an axe attached to the front of it, he found his Father's legs sticking out from underneath it.

"You good down there, Father?" Darrell asked, poking one of the protruding legs with his foot.

Father wheeled himself out from underneath the machine in response. His white-from-old-age hair was splattered with grease, but as he propped up the clunky goggles onto his forehead, he looked as happy as could be.

"Of course!" He responded, before gesturing at his nearby toolbox. "Hand me a wrench, would you?"

"Curved, pentagon, or three dimensional?"

"Curved."

Darrell picked up the oddly bent wrench, one his Father claimed was great for reaching into the small gaps but Darrell just thought was broken, and handed it off. With a nod in thanks, Father wheeled back under the machine.

"So, how were the townspeople today?" Father asked.

Darrell took a seat on the slightly wobbly, but mostly stable, stool next to his Father's feet. "Oh, same old same old." He said, putting the newest book down on top of the toolbox. "Got a book. Not a new one, of course, but still."

"Mhmm." Father's hand extended again. "Oil can."

Darrell handed it over as he continued, "Ran into Patton."

"Ran into him?" Darrell could practically see his Father's cocky grin. "More like purposefully planned a path to stumble into his arms."

"You're being excessive."

"I've listened to your poorly-veiled pining for too long, 'El. If I'm being excessive, you're being extra excessive."

"An amazing come back."

"It's just the truth." Father matched, hand snaking back out. "I need, uh, the thingy."

Darrell picked up the broken cog next to his foot. He put it in Father's hand. "This?"

"...yep!" The hand disappeared once more. "So how's Monsieur Dreamy?"

" _ Patton _ is doing fine." Darrell replied, glancing back at his book. "In fact, we're meeting tomorrow."

"Oh?"

"He said he wished he could read, since books sound so interesting." Darrell explained as if it was the most straight-forward thing in the world, and not the most gay-forward thing. "I told him I'd be happy to read a bit to him."

"So it's a date?"

"What? No!"

"Oh, it's definitely a date."

Darrell rolled his eyes. "Father, he has the whole town falling over him. He's not going to pick the bookworm who lives on the outskirts of town to court."

"He might." Father said, pushing out from underneath the machine and sitting up. "After all, you are very pretty."

"Pretty, but mostly useless." Darrell responded. "At the very least, he really should get a spouse that's good at housekeeping."

"My advice- start learning how to housekeep." Father said with a wink before patting his machine. "Now enough boy talk. Wanna see what this baby can do?"

Darrell took a second to look closer at the machine. Its main body was a furnace, with the back holding a chair and the front having a long arm with an axe attached.

"I don't know." Darrell said, not immediately recognizing the machine's function. "What's it supposed to do?"

"Cut wood." Father responded, already propping open the furnace and dumping some coal into it. "Here, take the seat. We'll see if the moving function works too."

"Down here?" Darrell looked around the small space. "There's not much room."

Father shrugged. "It'll be fine."

Darrell gave in, climbing into the throne-like chair. His Father gave him a thumbs up as he closed the furnace before going about to set down some logs across the room.

"Now, all you've got to do is drive up to the log, and pull this lever." Father said, coming back over to tap the lever next to Darrell's left hand.

Darrell nodded. "Got it." He looked at the three logs he had to chop, feeling vaguely like he was going on a very simple fetch quest. "Just line it up as best I can?"

"The next version's going to have a targeting system, so for now you're lining up, yeah." Father said before stepping into a corner of the room, pulling his goggles down. "You ready?"

Darrell chuckled. "Any reason you're hiding in the corner?"

"You may be safe from the axe, 'El, but I'm not." Father smiled. "Not that I don't trust your aiming skills, but I like to be sure."

"Uh huh."

"Oh, stop doubting the wood-chopper." Father said, gesturing forward. "Chop some wood in a much quicker, yet possibly less efficient, manner!"

"You even admit this was mostly a waste of time." Darrell joked as he kicked the furnace, starting the wheel-pushing mechanism.

"Once I get it to run on its own it won't be." Father responded, shouting slightly over the sound of the wheels creaking forwards.

Darrell carefully aligned the front of the machine and the first log of wood. Pulling the lever, he was greeted with the swish of a blade, followed by the breaking of wood. A basket on the side of the machine swooped out and picked up the pieces before going back to the side.

"The collector works too!" Father said happily. "I thought it might get itself chopped by going out too soon."

Darrell had to smile a bit at his Father's enthusiasm. Darrell's memories of his Papa were non-existent, and as such, so were any memories he might have of how Papa and Father were together. But he liked to believe that every time Father smiled when an invention worked, it was with the same smile he'd give to Papa.

With another kick, this time to steer it, Darrell moved the machine to the next log, slightly to the left of the first.

It was easy enough to chop, and once more Father marveled that the machine (and the collector, apparently a very important part) were working just as they should.

Darrell directed to the last one. This one was set up in almost an obstacle course fashion, with a pile of metal right beside it and the log itself set against the wall. When Darrell gave Father a questioning glance, the man just shrugged.

"I have to test how the machine reacts to hitting not-wood." He said, before slyly adding, "And I have to test just how awful you are at lining up the axe just right."

"Love you too, Father."

Darrell still approached the final log, knowing that giving up now was admitting defeat to lining-up skills. He had to have some skills, after all, and if this was going to be it, so be it. He sorely wished the machine had a slow down lever, feeling his approach to the log, even at all of a few inches a second, was going much too fast.

_ Actually _ Darrell reflected as he prepared to pull the lever  _ how I'm getting out of this corner afterwards is going to be interesting. _

But he was already here, after all. So, trying his best to line it up in the half a second he had left before he'd be running over it, Darrell pulled the lever.

Turns out, half a second? Not enough time to line up anything.

The axe slammed into the space between the wall and the pile of metal instead. It sprung back up, stretching past what its limit should be as the metal scattered across the room. Darrell heard his Father swear in the background, yelling at him, "Get away from the metal!"

He tried to, but the machine was already practically run into the wall, and the turning mechanism wasn't going to work. The axe, having broken the line keeping it from going down without the lever pulling it, slammed down again, bouncing off the momentum from the first time. It hit one of the metal scraps, which ricocheted backwards and lodged itself into the underbelly of the machine.

The furnace made a noise that almost sounded like screaming, steam puffing out of the top quicker than it should. The axe was still swinging forward, gaining more momentum every time it slammed into the ground and scattered metal pieces around.

"Okay, time to get off." Darrell muttered to himself, trying not to shake as he started to get out of the chair. A puff of steam suddenly burst out right in front of him, and he tried not to jerk back to violently. "Just gotta wait for that to stop doing that."

Out of the corner of his eye, Darrell saw his Father gesturing that he should get out of the chair and  _ now. _ Darrell shrugged and gestured at the steam. The puff was starting to lose steam and he'd be good to go any second now.

His attention focused on his Father and his exit path, Darrell didn't notice how the axe was practically flying off its support, or how the furnace was starting to glow red as steam came out of every crack.

But the steam in his path was just died down enough he was good. Darrell took the step forward, moving quickly while also keeping an eye out for another danger to end up in his path.

The axe slammed into the ground once more just as he got his first foot on the ground.

As it bounced backwards, the axe broke the limb holding it, flying backwards, slamming against the already weakened furnace.

There was a horrible squeal of metal that instantly got Darrell's attention. Confused, he turned towards the machine once more.

Just in time for the furnace to functionally combust, sending fire across the workshop.

Darrell was aware of something- scrap metal? the axe? it didn't matter- slamming into him, of the way it burned like acid. Letting out a strangled cry, Darrell fell over, vaguely aware that someone was calling him.

Then it was all black.


	3. Keep Your Pity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of the incident

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Description of (facial) scarring, self-deprecation, running from home  
> If I need to add anything, let me know!

The next few days were a blur for Darrell. Given that there was rarely a moment it wasn't a painful blur, he figured that was for the better.

For the fleeting moments he was conscious, his Father was always there, looking worried sick but physically fine. Darrell wanted to be bitter about that. He found that between his own pain and the anguish in his Father's eyes, he couldn't bear to be bitter.

The first time Darrell could do anything other than lay down and moan, his Father had (cautiously) squished him in a hug. He was crying, repeating over and over how sorry he was, that he never should have made Darrell test the machine, how he shouldn't have placed the log where he did.

Darrell returned the hug just as tightly, feeling tears running down his own face. Only the right side, though- his left was still too numb from the accident to feel, he supposed.

He told his Father it was okay. Neither of them could have seen any of it coming. And the pain was already starting to subside- he'd be fine, they'd be fine.

Father had choked on air for a second at those words, however, pulling out of the hug and telling Darrell he should get more rest. When Darrell tried to ask him what was wrong, Father turned away and repeated that he should get more rest.

It took another week of dancing around the problem before Father gave in. Darrell had asked him once more what was so wrong, why he kept apologizing. With a sigh, Father had handed him a hand mirror and left the room.

Worried, Darrel was tempted to follow him. He glanced at the mirror first, wondering what questions it was supposed to answer.

Then he saw his reflection.

The skin over the entirety of the left side of his face was burnt and scarred, an awful red colour that stretched down his neck and past the collar of his shirt. His eyelid was sluggishly able to move, but the eye was as messed up as his face.

Darrell slowly moved a finger to the eye, tracing the line that ran across the burn. The scarring could have come from the flying axe, could have come from a piece of scrap. It didn't matter. Even if the burn healed (which he doubted it ever would) the scar would never. And the damage done to his eye was definitely permanent.

Darrell threw the mirror away from him, watching as it hit the wall and fell to the floor, somehow not shattering. Even with the mirror out of his sight, the face it had reflected back to him wasn't gone.

Running his hand over his face again, wondering how he hadn't noticed the obvious change days ago, Darrell knew it never would be.

~~

"Please, Vicar, it's the least I can do."

The Vicar shook his head again. "Darrell, I understand everything that happened was a messy accident. You don't need to pay me back for the book."

Darrell tried not to huff. It was his first day in town after... the incident and everyone had only pity for him. Friendly hello's were tinged with remorse, venders were offering him free samples for no reason, and now the vicar wouldn't even let him pay him back for the book- it had been burned in the incident.

"I know I don't _need_ to." Darrell said, proffering the money once more. "But I _want_ to. Please, Vicar, it's not a big deal. I just feel bad about what happened to the book you trusted me with."

The Vicar hesitated once more before slowly accepting the money. "If you insist." He said.

"I do." Darrell said. Even if it had taken so much pushing, the Vicar accepting his money was the first time all day anyone had even pretended to treat Darrell like half his face wasn't damaged beyond repair. "It was good seeing you, Vicar, but I've got to head back home now."

The Vicar nodded. "Of course, of course." He responded, Darrell's money still in his hand. He inclined his head at the bookshelf, looking smaller with even just that one missing book. "Care to take another book?"

"No thanks." Darrell said immediately. "I, uh, think I'm good for now."

"Alright then. Have a good day, Darrell."

"You too." Darrell returned before heading out the door. He smiled the tiniest bit. That hadn't been too bad. The Vicar hadn't stared at his scars too much. In all honesty, it was probably the most normal interaction Darrell had had all day.

The smile died as he continued through the town, however. Villagers in the middle of conversation all fell silent as he passed by, greeting him too loudly, eyes all straying to the left side of his face. And of course, the minute he was truly past them, the whispers started up, pitying him, saying what a shame such a beautiful face was ruined.

Darrell hunched in on himself, hands running through his hair to give himself something to do outside of listening to everything they had to say. He had to give up on that too, however, the short patches on his head from where the hair had burned away only upsetting him more.

He was considering getting it all cut off. He felt a tear come to his functioning eye at that, wondering what the people would say when even his ponytail of his chocolate brown hair was gone, but it wasn't like the haphazard patches were any better.

He was still in the middle of that ugly contemplation when he noticed someone fall into step with him. He glanced over to see it was Patton, the normal smile he wore tainted by the poorly hidden pity in his eyes.

"Heya Darrell." Patton greeted, as he always had, but it was softer. As if him being too cheery might be an insult to the poor, damaged boy.

Darrell tried not to bristle as he responded, "Hi Patton."

"How are you?" Patton continued, and Darrell had to give him credit for trying to act like everything was normal. It was clear that it wasn't, but at least he was making an effort.

"I'm fine." Darrell responded, fighting the urge to scratch at his face as he did. "Been working on my house-making skills."

Patton laughed, a touch forcefully, but Darrell still appreciated it. No awkward 'oh, really?' or follow-up question about how Father's inventions were.

Of all the company to continue his walk of shame through the town with, Patton seemed to be the best. Looks aside.

Darrell wondered, briefly, if it could still be. If after enough time, Patton's voice wouldn't sound fake cheery, if he wouldn't worry about the scarring, if they could both just act like everything was as it always had been.

If they could still be something more.

Darrell was still wondering that as they reached the edge of town. Patton stopped there, a brief glance at the bakery reminding Darrell he was probably just on break and couldn't be away too long.

"Listen, Darrell," Patton started, messing with his fingers as he did, "I don't know how busy you are, but I was wondering if you're free tonight?"

Darrell raised the only eyebrow he had left. "I am. Why?" He wondered if Patton still wanted to hear a story. He almost hoped so. So mundane, so simple, and yet it would show Patton didn't care that he was deformed, that the pity wasn't as bad as the rest of the village-

"I wanted to know if you'd come with me to the tavern tonight. For dinner." Patton coughed, his cheery smile looking a little awkward.

 _Yes_ Was on Darrell's lips immediately. Patton had basically just asked him out on a date, for goodness sake's! After so many interactions, Darrell had always wondered if he ever would, and now, even despite his injury he was-

His injury. It was his first day back in town after the incident and the first thing Patton does is asks him to dinner?

Darrell looked closer at Patton's expression. Same smile, but those eyes he thought were just laced with pity were more brimming with it. A gaze he didn't think was too often checking out his scars seemed more fixed on them.

Darrell let out a shuddering breath when he realized exactly what this was: Patton thought that now that he was deformed, he'd never marry. Even as a male, being unmarried with the main skill of book reading wasn't going to get him far. Especially if his father died, naturally or via another invention.

So Patton, bleeding heart of the village, now definitely the prettiest boy and no doubt the most useful, was attempting to court Darrell so he wouldn't be stuck with that fate.

He was going to try and marry Darrell out of pity alone.

Darrell looked away. "I-I'll think about it." He lied before hurrying away, refusing to look back and see anymore of that pity. Was this all he was now? A pitiable mess? Who would either marry out of another's pity or die alone? All because of one accident?

A tear slid down his cheek as he considered it. Was that all he had ever been? A pretty face? And now that he wasn't even that anymore, all he was was some fallen icon? To be cried over and sacrifices made for?

Darrell rushed through the house, not stopping to greet his Father as he dashed into his room and shut the door. He slid down it, sobbing, the pain of his burned eyelid jerking reminding him why he was crying.

He had always joked about being useless. Joked about how his spouse would have to put up with such a burden. Now those jokes burned in his memory as he realized how completely true they were.

His Father tapped lightly on the door. "Uh, 'El? Are you... are you okay?"

 _No, I'll never be okay._ Darrell wanted to respond. _Now that I know I was nothing to the town, to anyone if it weren't for my stupid pretty face._

But he didn't say that. "Yeah, uh, just tired." He said instead. "Still recovering, I guess."

"Oh. Okay." Father said. "Can I get you anything? I was starting to make some soup..."

Darrell swallowed thickly. Soup sounded good... but he had other things to do.

"Um, no thanks." He replied. "I think I'm just going to take a nap."

"Of course." Father said, though Darrell could have sworn it sounded like his voice fell. "If you change your mind, I'll be in the kitchen."

"Got it."

Darrell waited until he heard his Father's steps recede all the way to the kitchen. Standing up, Darrell wiped his face and started moving around his room. He pulled his satchel out from underneath his bed, stuffing clothes into it at random. It didn't really matter what he brought. He just needed enough for a few nights.

There was a town not far from here. He could get anything he forgot here from there. He made sure to grab what little gold he had.

Darrell, checking his bag once more, pried open his window. He almost never opened it. It squeaked as it opened, and Darrell glanced back, relieved when he didn't hear any steps approaching.

The window opened the rest of the way without making anymore noise, and Darrell took a second to look around his room. His bed was still a mess from where he woke up that morning. There was a crayon drawing in one of the corners, from when he was young and his Father didn't have the heart to clean away every bit of his art.

He was going to miss his room.

With a sigh, Darrell climbed out of the window. Landing as quietly as he could on the wild grass beneath it, he checked to make sure no one in the village would see him leaving.

Finding no one, he headed into the woods.

From within the trees, he took a second to look one last time at his house.

"Farewell." He whispered, hoping the wind might carry it to his Father. Maybe it was cruel to say goodbye like that, but he knew the other way would be too painful.

Hell, he knew it would be painful either way. It was cruel to leave his widowed Father with no family.

But Darrell couldn't take the towns' pity. Couldn't take the sad glances or the glares when they heard he was turning Patton down. Really, now that he was ugly, who was he to say no to the best man in town?

It would hurt in the beginning, but in the end, it would all be for the better. No pity for Darrell, no eye-sore for the town, no more anguish over seeing damage he refused to accept wasn't his fault for his Father.

That in mind, Darrell turned away from his house and ran, deep into the forest.


	4. Snow in August

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A wrong path is chosen, and strange events and sights abound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Minor animal abuse in self-defense, wolves, death threats, swearing  
> If I need to add anything, let me know!

Darrell had been walking for a few hours. After initially running into the forest, Darrell had stumbled upon a path. Hoping it would lead to the town, he started following it.

Now was possibly the wrong time, Darrell decided, to admit to himself that he had never been to other towns.

Or in the forest.

Or on this path.

He mostly stayed in the village. He always stayed home when Father left for invention shows, keeping an eye on the house. It wasn't like he had a reason to leave outside of that.

Ironic that it had taken permanent physical deformation to get him out of his comfort zone.

He was adjusting his satchel, starting to regret not stealing a horse for the trip, when he came upon a fork in the road. At the point where the path diverged was a sign post, but all the words were scratched off and unreadable.

"Are all signs like this?" Darrell muttered to himself, stepping back from the useless signs to glance between the paths. The one to the left was stretching out, relatively flattened, and it seemed the sun was shining directly on the trees that lined the way.

The one to the right was bumpy and heading downwards, the more curved trees darkening the path.

"Oh, wow, a hard choice." Darrell muttered, already heading down the bright and sunny path. He was only a few steps in, however, when he heard the clumping of horses from behind him.

He glanced back. He couldn't see anyone yet, but if it was someone from the town-

Darrell quickly darted onto the other path, sliding down the slope to hide from whoever was approaching.

He peeked his head over the edge, watching for the person, in case they were crazy and going to come stomping down the dark path.

Darrell resisted the urge to run when he saw who it was.

"Patton?" He whispered to himself, watching as the handsome boy's golden hair caught the sunlight while he whipped his head around, looking for something.

Or someone.

"Darrell? Darrell!" Patton's horse stomped in place, as anxious as its rider. "Are you out there? Your Father's worried."

Darrell lowered his head further behind the hill crest.

Patton glanced around again and, when he didn't see anyone, sighed and spurred his horse down the brighter path.

Darrell sighed himself and rested his head on the bend of the hill. Not only had his absence already been discovered, people were out searching for him.

Or, at the very least, Patton was out searching for him.

Darrell glanced down the brighter path again. It was, on all accounts, the much better (and more likely to lead to the town) path.

But it was also the one everyone would assume he'd go down. And the one he already knew Patton to be going on.

Darrell turned back to see where the dark path went. The further it stretched, the darker it got, and a wind blowing from its direction seemed too cold for the summer day.

Another glance down the brighter path, and Darrell's mind was set.

He started down the dark, looming path.

He was all of ten minutes into the walk before he started to question his motives for picking this path.

For one, while Darrell wouldn't admit it out loud, he was scared. The sunlight seemed to get less and less the further in he got, and trees around him only seemed to get more and more warped.

He was fighting a jacket out of his satchel when he stepped on something crunchy. Darrell glanced down, expecting to see a twig, But instead found a patch of... snow? In August?

And there was only more of it as he headed forward. In fact, he realized snow was starting to fall, peppering his clothes and hair.

Was it weird? Yes.

But Darrell knew it was this or running into Patton, and after the pity date offer, he would take the abnormal snow.

"Listen, Father, I know you miss me," He muttered as he continued on, snow starting to edge on his ankles, his shoes not made for snow walking, "but cursing me to be doomed with snow in summer is just a little rude."

From somewhere in the woods around him, Darrell heard a growl.

Darrell picked up the pace. "Wolves, too, super, great, this really was my best course of action-"

Something darted around in the trees next to him. He resisted the urge to run. That'd probably just attract even more attention.

The thing darted again, but this time it was into Darrell's path. The creature had its teeth bared, eyes flashing with hunger as it let out another growl.

"...Hi." Darrell said, hoping to distract the wolf from eating him while he prepared an escape path. "How are you?"

The wolf kept growling.

"Not answering is rude, you know." Darrell said, glancing around him. He was pretty sure he saw more flashing eyes and hungry jaws. He'd have to hurry up.

...his only current plan, however, was to jump over the wolf and run. He had a sneaking suspicion that wouldn't work.

The other wolves were starting to get daring, exiting the trees and approaching Darrell. A quick glance behind him showed there were even a few behind him.

"Your friends are also rude." Darrell continued, taking a few tiny steps backwards, hoping to get himself some room. The wolves in front of him just moved closer. "You should never block your guest's path of exit."

The wolf that had started all of this opened its mouth, looking like it was done listening to Darrell talk.

Stupid plan time.

"You should brush your teeth." Darrell quipped while he swung his satchel off his shoulder, slapping the wolf's mouth to the side. Then, using the small gap of time he had to not have his leg bitten, he jumped over the wolf.

...and by over he meant onto because he greatly overestimated his jumping strength and he ended up half-landing, half-falling off of the wolf's back.

"Whoops." Darrell said, enough adrenaline pumping through his veins that he no longer feared death and only feared leaving these wolves thinking he was a witless dumbass.

He was a very witful dumbass.

He patted the wolves back as he stood up and started sprinting. "Didn't mean to hurt you!"

The wolves did not accept his apology, and instead took up chase.

Darrell glanced around as he sprinted.

_ Tree, tree, tree, tree, bush, August snow, tree, wolves catching up to me, sneaky wolf stalking me, nowhere safe, oh wow another tree, gate, tree, bus- gate? _

So, being the not complete idiot he was, Darrell headed for a tree.

The one he was heading for had a long, strong branch sticking out over the path. Darrell wasn't the strongest person ever, and his upper body strength was entirely dedicated to flipping book pages, but he hoped that his desire to not be torn apart by wolves would save him.

With a little jump as he approached the branch, Darrell did manage to grab it.

He didn't manage to do the cool flip around it he had pictured in his head, but he was able to lift his legs high enough the wolves dashed right underneath him.

The minute the wolves had passed beneath him, Darrell let go of the branch, trying not to stumble as he turned around and started towards the gate. It was clearly the best bet, but it wasn't like he could just run at the gate and faze through it, leaving the wolves behind. He needed time to open it.

And as he got to the gate and pulled on the clearly unlocked, but extremely rusted, gates, he saw he had made the right choice. The rust was bad enough that despite all his effort, the gate was slowly creaking open only a few inches.

And the wolves, also not idiots, were coming at him once more.

Darrell tugged harder.

Finally, with the wolves nipping at his heels (seriously, one of them had just tried to bite his shoe), the gate opened just enough for him to slip through. Luckily, it closed much quicker than it opened, and he managed to slam it shut as he fell inside it.

The wolves growled at him, scratching at the gates, but they didn't budge for them. Rubbing his arm where he had landed on it after squeezing through the gap, Darrell let out a sigh.

"Not dead. And you're not fed." He muttered, getting up and sticking his tongue out at the wolves.

The wolves growled louder and Darrell decided it was a good idea to start heading inwards. After all, he was trapped behind the gates for a while now. Might as well figure out the lay of the land.

He turned around and stopped.

...a castle?

He was locked in with a castle?

Darrell started forward again, heading towards the decaying, huge, stone building, looking around the overgrown courtyard as he went. No one in the town had ever talked about a castle in the woods. Was he the first was to find it? Had everyone who found it become eaten by wolves?

The steps leading up to the castle were cracked and chipped, looking like they hadn't by many people in years, weeds growing out of the cracks. Darrell almost expected them to squeak as he went up them.

The golden handle on the huge, decaying doors was frigid as Darrell held it as tightly as he could manage, yanking the door open. It squealed as much as the gates had, taking even more effort to open- the door was fucking heavy.

Even as Darrell got inside, the minute he let go of the door, it slammed shut behind him, practically shaking the entire hallway that stretched before him. Darrell cringed at the noise before wrapping his arms around him, rubbing his forearms now that he wasn't directly in the cold.

"Hello?" He called out, feeling a little foolish given how silent and old the castle was. As suspected, no one responded.

He stepped further into the grand yet empty hall. The wallpaper was peeling, images of golden leaves climbing high up to the ceiling that once looked regal now just sad.

Darrell turned at the first right in the hall, seeing a flicker of light he quickly identified as coming from a fire. Coming to it, he stopped to warm his hands, looking around as he did so.

A fire, lit in the fireplace? That sort of thing didn't just happen. There had to be someone in here.

The sound of a chair scraping across the floor caught his attention. Darrell turned to the left, spotting another doorway.

"Is someone there?" He asked while he quickly made his way through the doorway, hoping to spot the occupant (or occupants) of the castle.

But there was no one.

Instead, on the table so long it covered the entire length of the room, a single place at the middle of it was set with what appeared to Darrell to be a feast fit to feed an army.

Slowly, still glancing around him, Darrell approached the set seat.

The food looked scrumptious- piles of fresh rolls, pots of rich stew, a juicy roast, and more- but Darrell wasn't ready to eat it just yet. Who had set it up? Was it poisoned? Was it a trap?

"Uh, hello?" He tried again, moving away from the food to call out again. "I know someone's there- is this your dinner?" Darrell had enough sense of mind to bite back the 'got a black hole for a stomach?' comment he wanted to make.

No response.

Darrell looked at the food again, hunger and chill starting to win the fight of 'should I eat it?' against logic, when he heard skidding from down another hallway and what he thought was someone yelling.

"Hello?" he called again, heading towards the next doorway.

He pulled it open, intent on looking for the source of the noise, when the skidding noise sounded beneath him and a blur pass into the room.

Darrell spun around, looking for what he assumed was some sort of rat with too long nails. But the floor was empty, aside from a chipped teacup Darrell could have sworn wasn't there a second ago.

"Ah, I see now." Darrell said, crouching down to look at the cup. "This castle is run but a teacup. Clearly."

"I wish!"

Darrell stumbled backwards, falling over. In his defense, teacups didn't normally talk, much less turn around to reveal a face that  _ moved _ while they talked.

"Then I could stay up past eleven, and practice flipping around on my saucer, and eat cake every day, and do fun stuff!" The teacup continued, ignoring Darrell's blank stare. The teacup glared past Darrell, their final words seemingly directed at someone else, though who it could be Darrell had no clue.

"You don't get to do those things because they're stupid." The person the teacup was apparently talking to said, their voice coming from behind Darrell. He turned around, expecting to see a human, and instead seeing a... tea pot.

A talking tea pot.

Weirder than a talking tea cup, no, but that made the amount of talking objects two and Darrell wasn't completely comfortable with that.

"You say that about everything."

"That's because everything you want to do is stupid." The tea pot replied, rolling the eyes drawn on their side. "Like going to talk to the human! What the hell are you thinking?"

"That I'm booooored and he's new." The tea cup responded. "Come on, Virgil, don't tell me you're not excited by the new person!"

"I'm not." The tea pot- Virgil?- deadpanned.

Darrell slowly pushed himself to his feet. Maybe, if he just started moving towards the door very quietly, he could get out of here before the tea set started to focus on him again. He wasn't sure, exactly, what harm easily breakable porcelain figures could pose to him, but he wasn't going to figure it out.

He had successfully inched his way halfway across the room, the tea cup now arguing with Virgil about it was completely safe to do backflips using his saucer, when another voice boomed out.

"Ah,  _ le miel _ , leaving so soon?"

Darrell's head jerked in the direction of the new voice, realizing after a second it had come from the table.

_ Oh god is the food talking no- _

Darrell tilted his head. The candlestick had a face on it. How did he miss that two minutes ago?

"Uh, yeah, I think I am." Darrell responded. Smooth talking had not at all kinda gotten him through the wolves, so it could probably get him through talking objects.

Probably.

"What a shame, given how wind has picked up outside." The candlestick said. "So cold, so much snow everywhere, and the wolves... easy to die out there."

Darrell waved his finger at the candlestick. "Candlesticks shouldn't threaten people. It's unbecoming."

"Unbecoming's my middle name." The candlestick replied coolly. "Besides,  _ sucre, _ I ain't threatening anyone. It's not like I power over the weather. Or wolves."

"No, you can just talk." Darrell said sarcastically.

"Oh, good, he's got ears." The candlestick turned towards the tea set. "Thomas, Virgil, have you heard? The human's got ears!"

"Remy, your sarcasm is even worse than mine sometimes." The tea pot responded.

"Only sometimes?"

"You all have names." Darrell said casually. "I do hate it when my defiances of nature don't have names."

Virgil frowned at him. "We're not yours, buddy. And of course we have names, what do you think we are, floor tiles?"

The way Virgil said that made it sound as if being a talking floor tile was a ridiculous thing. Given he was a teapot, Darrell thought this was a little unfair to floor tiles.

"I don't know." Darrell responded. "I haven't run into talking objects before. It's a new experience for me."

"We're incredibly exciting, I know." Remy said, waving his flaming arms around. "And you haven't even met Emile yet!"

"Emile?"

"He's a stickler." Remy said. "But he's a cute stickler, so we let it slide. And he keeps track of how many hours we've spent in this place of forsaken gods, so that's cool."

"Place of forsaken gods." Darrell repeated. "A very nice name."

"It's just an apt description."

"Sounds a little dramatic to me."

"I apologize. I was going for very dramatic."

"Here's a tip: He's always going for very dramatic." Virgil informed Darrell.

"Like you aren't."

"Emileeeeeeee." Thomas turned towards the door leading to the fireplace. "Virgil and Remy are fighting about dramatics again."

"You two are insufferable." Came the response a moment later, though the tone didn't sound truly annoyed. "And reckless, given we don't even know where the human is."

Darrell watched as a clock wandered into the dining room. He was completely focused on getting up the chair and onto the table and somehow missed seeing him.

"Oh, yeah, that human, so sneaky." Remy teased, winking at Darrell as if he might not have picked up on the joke.

"You never know!" Emile said as he scrambled fully onto the table. "He could be anywhere."

"Like right here?" Darrell asked, startling the clock.

Emile, after a second of just staring shell-shocked at the human he had completely missed, turned to Remy. "You've just been talking in front of the human?!"

"Hey! Virgil and Thomas started it!"

"For once, he's not lying." Virgil chimed in with a glare at Thomas. "This one refused to just let the human be."

"I was bored." Thomas said again.

"That's not a proper excuse for anything and you know that."

"Well shame on all three of you then." Emile tutted. "What if he had tried to smash you?"

"I assume someone would have killed him." Thomas responded. "Virgil threatens to kill everyone in the house every other day so it seems pretty likely."

Emile glared Virgil. "You're a bad role model."

"I'm not trying to be a role model."

"Besides, Emile,  _ chérie, _ what are you trying to say?" Remy asked with a smirk. "That we  _ shouldn't _ kill people who harm our loved ones?"

"Killing is drastic." Emile responded, before quietly adding, "But yes if someone touches any of you there will be blood."

"Now who's not being a good role model?"

Emile frowned. "I am the most responsible person here and you all know it."

"We know it, sure." Remy responded. "But are we going to openly acknowledge it when we could tease you instead? No."

"So, do you guys all just live here in both platonic and romantic gayness for kicks, or...?" Darrell asked after Remy winked at Emile.

"That's just a pro of this whole... experience." Remy responded. "Of course, ninety-nine percent of this is cons, but we make the best of what we can."

"'Experience?'" Darrell repeated. "Odd way to describe all of this."

"It's the simplest way." Virgil said with a shrug. "Besides, we're busy enough trying not to kill each other without Ro- I mean, without the Master of the Castle on our backs."

"More like the Master of Brooding." Remy said quietly.

"Remy!"

"What? It's true, Em, and we both know it."

"Well it doesn't make it nice."

"I am candelabra. I don't exactly care about nice."

"Well now, that's just unfair to other candelabras." Darrell said. "I had a very nice one in my old house. Didn't complain about anything. It helped that they never said anything."

"Haha." Virgil deadpanned.

"Old house?" Emile said, catching the part of the sentence Darrell would have preferred ignored.

"Mmhmm." Darrell hummed, hoping if he was nonchalant enough about it the matter wouldn't be pressed.

Emile looked like he would have preferred to press the matter, but there was a disturbance above their heads that got all of the objects to look up. Darrell did too, before asking, "Who was that, the piano?"

"The piano's downstairs." Emile answered, not catching the sarcastic tone. "That's, uh, the Master of the Castle."

"Do you think he's coming downstairs?" Thomas whispered to Virgil.

Virgil started, "He normally just-"

The thudding noises moved.

"Okay, yeah, he's coming downstairs. No clue why but uh." He turned to Darrell. "You need to hide. Now."

"Why?" Darrell asked.

"Because I'm not sure you've got enough time to run without being spotted, and trust me, you don't want to be spotted."

"That sounds troublesome." Darrell said, though he was already making his way out the door opposite of where the thuds seemed to be coming from.

"It is." Remy assured him. "We'll distract him- just go!"

Darrell hurried out, dashing down the hallway he found himself in. From behind him, he could faintly hear people talking, and assumed the objects were talking with the Master of the Castle, whomever the heck that was.

He stopped when he came across a door. Darrell began tugging it open, only to have the hinges squeal like a pig. He cringed at the sound and glanced in the direction he had come from.

The talking had stopped.

"Shit." Darrell started running again, deciding not to go in the squeaky door room, listening as the sound of slamming feet that were not his own started up behind him.

Coming across another door, he found this one not nearly as annoyingly loud, and quickly darted inside the room.

It was mostly empty, appearing to have been an old storage room. Still hearing the other footsteps racing, Darrell started opening the doors to the cabinets inside. Finding one to be empty, he jumped inside it before closing the cabinet doors behind him.

Outside his hiding spot, Darrell still heard the steps approaching.

Much to his chagrin, they stopped roughly where he would place the door to the room. This was confirmed when the door to the room slammed open.

Super-duper, he was going to die here.

A small part of Darrell wondered if the Master wouldn't be smart enough to check the cabinets but, going by the sound of cabinet doors being ripped open and slammed shut, he wasn't.

Luckily, since Darrell was expecting to be found, he could now plan the perfect way to introduce himself to the Master. Maybe he could get cool points and not be killed.

This is why, when the Master tore open the door to his own cabinet, Darrell was able to say (mostly) collectedly, "How do you do?"

Considering the Master's next move was to yank him out of the cabinet by his collar, Darrell had either a) done amazingly and gotten the Master to think he was hot or the much more likely b) he was dead.

Since the Master's then straight up roared in his face, he was pretty sure B was right.

Darrell decided to spend the last few moments of his life observing the creature- eh, the Beast sounded cooler, he wanted to die cool- the Beast that was going to kill him.

He was tall, tall enough that his barely-lifting Darrell had him dangling a foot or two away from the ground. He was helped with his height by the bent hoofed feet that would have fit perfectly into properly designed high heels.

The Beast was covered in red-brown fur, only some of it covered by what seemed to be an oversized white dress and a red cape that seemed to be made of curtains. It also had golden embellishments that seemed to have been sewn on by the Beast or his crew.

He also had some really cool black horns with natural golden swirls that were very pretty. Darrell, trying to pretend he wasn't dangling in the Beast's grasp, said, "Your horns are very nice."

This confused the Beast. And, hey, Darrell would take confusion over anger.

"What?" The Beast demanded, his voice partly a growl.

"Your horns." Darrell said again. "They're nice."

More silence that was broken only by quiet noises coming down the hallway, eventually ending in the objects from before appearing in the doorway.

"Roman!" Emile yelled, authoritatively. "No killing the human!"

"I..." The Beast- Roman- shook his head. "This one's weird."

"I told him he has nice horns." Darrell told the objects.

"Oh." Emile said.

"That's... that's a new one." Virgil agreed.

"So, uh, you're not going to kill him?" Emile asked after a second.

Roman sighed, which sounded more like a grrrrr, and unceremoniously let Darrell go.

Darrell grunted as he hit the ground. "Thanks."

"Be grateful I don't kill you."

"Apparently you're not allowed to do that."

Roman glared at Darrell, who only smiled back in response. This smile was a defense mechanism for the fact he was still waiting to be killed. The defense mechanism was slightly flawed for the sake it hurt the burned muscles on the left side of his face. He massaged the muscles, hoping it just looked like he was itching his jaw.

Roman's eyebrows raised slightly before he turned away. "Fine. I'm not going to kill you."

The objects looked slightly shocked, but didn't say anything.

"Uh, okay, nice." Darrell said. "So, do I have food privileges, or...?"

"As many food privileges as a prisoner can have."

"A prisoner?" Darrell's eyes widen but he focused on pretending to not be shocked by this.

"It's my castle." Roman said. "You trespassed. So now you're my prisoner."

And with that dramatic declaration, the Beast stormed off.


	5. The East Wing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A jaunt to the East Wing, where the author inserts the fact they dislike how the East Wing is accessed in the 2017 movie.  
> It doesn't make sense, don't @ me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Mentions of heights  
> Tell me if I missed anything!

Darrell stood in place, nodding mostly to himself. 

"I mean... I'm not dead." Darrell said after a moment. "So that's a plus."

"I guess." Emile said, still looking in the direction Roman had stormed off in. "Uh. I guess you live here now."

"To the cells it is." Virgil said.

"No, we're not locking him in the cells." Emile protested. "We have enough empty rooms as is."

"But we never use the cells."

"We're not starting now."

"It doesn't matter, anyways. He'll go wherever he wants." Thomas pointed out. "Unless you guys really want to get Roman back here to lock him up."

Virgil sighed. "Fiiiiine. East wing?"

"Ah yass East Wing." Remy agreed. "So dangerous to get to, but worth it."

"Dangerous to get to?"

"There's no hallway there." Remy said with a shrug. "You have to walk along the roof."

"Ah, yes, the perfect place for me to go." Darrell said sarcastically.

Remy ignored the sarcasm. "Isn't it just? Come on!"

"Soooooo, dangerous East Wing." Darrell said as he, and the rest of the group, followed Remy down the halls and up some stairs. "Is the West Wing as dangerous to access?

"It's actually more dangerous." Remy said.

"Remy." Virgil said warningly.

"Sorry, Virge. It's not dangerous to access. It's dangerous to be inside. 'Cause the thing is-"

_ "Remy." _

"Fine, fine, I'll shut up about it."

"Well my interest certainly isn't piqued." Darrell said, glancing among the objects.

"That's good." Virgil said. "Because we're done talking about the West Wing. The only other thing I'll say about it is that it's off limits. Completely. One hundred percent. Go in there and someone  _ will _ kill you."

"Okay, then." Darrell said, looking behind him as the group turned in the direction of the East Wing. "I totally won't go in there."

All the objects took a moment to glare at him.

"I feel so welcomed."

"We just don't want you to get killed." Thomas said.

"And to not get killed, you have to stay in the not West Wing." Remy followed. "But for now, roof walking!"

Darrell pushed open the window-door Remy was uselessly knocking on with his candle hands. He glanced out at the flat, narrow line of cement leading into a tower at the end of the row. He looked at the drop. It was a lovely something-deadly height.

"...I think staying in the East Wing is also going to get me killed."

Remy patted Darrell's leg. "Oh, staying in the East Wing is very safe! Getting to it, on the other hand-"

"I'm telling you the cells are very comfy and not as dangerous to get to." Virgil pointed out.

"The cells are made of only stone and metal." Thomas said.

"It's very comfy."

"I think I'll take the death walk, thanks." Darrell said before glancing at the tea set. "Uh, are you guys coming over too?"

"Why wouldn't we?" Thomas asked. Darrell glanced between them and the drop.

"I'm going to just... carry you over." Darrell said, scooping up the pot and the cup, careful to not squeeze the saucer too hard.

"Ah, look, the stranger cares." Remy said mockingly.

"Porcelain breaks much too easily, okay?" Darrell said as he started walking across, trying not to focus on the fall but instead his balance. "I just met you. I haven't had enough time to be utterly roasted by you yet, so you can't die yet."

"That's sweet of you." Emile said, somehow not sarcastically.

Luckily, they made it to the other side with no major incidents outside of Thomas saying he could probably sled down the roof safely.

This was not an incident in and of itself; Virgil's attempt to attack Thomas for a, quote, "Wildly stupid idea," almost lead to Virgil falling.

"Okay, let's see if this room was worth the death walk." Darrell said, putting down the fragile talking objects before opening the door-window before him.

The room had a small, half-c foyer to it which Darrell registered as existing before he pushed on to the actual room.

The actual room had many amazing features- huge bed, pretty furniture against the walls, literal gold just hanging from the ceiling. There was one thing that Darrell caught immediately, however: the dust.

"Bless you." Emile said after several sneezes from Darrell. "I apologize for how dusty the place is. It hasn't been slept in... well in never, I don't think."

"The isolating it from the castle and making it reachable only via a roof walk turned out to be a mistake." Remy added, swatting at a spiderweb in one corner. "Who could've seen that one coming?"

"Makes it a good prisoner bedroom, I can see." Darrell said, grabbing the blanket on the bed and fluffing it violently. When the dust cloud puffed up and caused another sneezing fit, he knew he was the only one to blame. That's why he reassigned the blame onto anyone who wasn't him. "Especially give all the torture dust it comes equipped with."

"You were the one who fluffed it." Thomas pointed out immediately.

"Well it was now or choke on dust in the night while I sleep."

"If you sleep." Remy said with a chuckle.

"...What the Hell does that mean?"

Remy nodded at the wardrobe. "That wardrobe likes to sing a lot."

"Oh, well, that shoul-"

"The wardrobe also has insomnia and sings mostly at night."

"You all want to kill me."

"But, hey, you can have a consolation prize!" Remy said, clunking his arms together. "DRAGON."

"Ah yes thank you for yelling dragon." Darrell said, sitting on the dust bed. "I'm touched."

"Wait for ittttttt." Remy pointed at the window.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothi-

Suddenly, through the tiny gap in the window, a blur of fire dashed in and soared around the room, less dusting and more slamming itself into the dusty areas and carrying the resulting displaced particles away with it.

As it soared around the bed, and Darrell as well, he realized that the fast flying thing was a duster. Its handle, made of gold and textured with scales, had an array of fire-coloured feathers on one end, and a dragon's head on the other.

As the dragon flew by him, its head reared and flicked out its snake like tongue, its eyes glowing as the dust picked up and followed it back out the window.

"It's... literally a dragon." Darrell said. Remy nodded.

"That'll be the Dragon Witch." Virgil said. "Named by Roman on one of the days he was willing to talk to us. We're not sure if they were sent as a gift by the sucker who trapped us here- you're stuck as inanimate objects but no more dust problems- or if it's a member of the staff whose name we just forgot. They don't speak ever so." Virgil shrugged. "Who knows."

"Cool." Darrell said, looking around the now perfectly clean and completely dustless room. "Now if I can just shut the wardrobe up..."

"No object murder." Emile said immediately.

"I wasn't going to do that!" Darrell assured Emile. "I don't get murderous on the first night of no sleep. That's a second night situation."

"I like you." Remy said. "Because I think you are the only person who understands me."

"You haven't slept in years, Rem." Emile pointed out.

"That's because I don't have to sleep anymore, remember?" Remy said, bitterly. "I miss burning my tongue on coffee and avoiding the sleep I used to need."

Virgil looked sadly at Darrell. "You must excuse him. His entire personality was built upon one thing, and when he stopped having access to that thing, he, as a person, collapsed."

"Says you, Mr. I-can't-be-a-teapot." Remy matched. "You complained for  _ weeks _ about how your purple tint was too light and the teapot made you seem too motherly."

"That is a baseless accusation."

"I can confirm Virgil is very motherly." Thomas said with a slightly evil grin. "Mostly because only a Mom would try to stop me from sliding down a roof."

"You're ungrateful."

"Sounds like something a Mom would say." Remy pointed out.

"I hate both of you."

"Okay, you three." Emile broke in before another comparison between Virgil and Mothers could be made. "You've made your points. We've got to get started on dinner."

"It's not like we do anything, though." Remy complained. "That's the chef's problem."

"Yes, but we both know he's not going to wake up and cook unless we make him."

"Ughhhhhhh  _ fine. _ " Remy glared at Darrell. "You seem not completely stupid, so I shouldn't have to say this, but don't run away, okay? Aside from Master Grumpy-Pants, the woods have a huge wolf problem."

"I know." Darrell said. "Why do you think I ran into the old abandoned castle?"

"Cause it looks cool?" Thomas offered.

"...yes. But also because of wolves."

"Well, it's nice to have some form of new company, even if brought forcefully." Remy said with a shrug, before heading back towards the roof walkway. Virgil and Thomas immediately followed, but Emile stayed back for a second.

"Why  _ were _ you in the woods anyways?" Emile asked quietly so only Darrell could hear.

"Uh, business trip." Darrell lied, thinking of his Father's many journeys. "I, em, I got lost on the way."

"A business trip?" Emile repeated. Darrell nodded. "Wh-"

"Em, you coming?" Virgil was back in the room, door propped open on his side. "I'd tell you you're welcome to hang out with the human, but you're the only person the fridge will open up to."

"Yeah, I'm coming." Emile said, started towards Virgil before stopping again and facing Darrell. "I don't think we ever caught your name."

"Darrell." He said doing a half-bow. "Pleasure to properly make your acquaintance."

Emile nodded. "Pleasure's all ours, Darrell." And with that, he actually followed Virgil out of the room. After making sure he also heard the outer window close, Darrell moved to the mirror hanging off the wall.

His burns weren't any worse or better than they had been, but as Darrell contemplated them, he had to admit the definite benefit to all the talking objects: no one was going to gawk at him here.

And while he didn't know how they all ended up as they did, Darrell was willing to bet all their pity for themselves and others had been worn pretty thin as well.

With another poke at the damaged, but luckily not infected, skin, Darrell leapt into the now non-sneezing fit bed. It was comfortable.

Better than the forest floor, at least.

Just outside his room, almost back to the main castle, the objects were in quiet debate.

"What, you think he'll be the one?" Remy asked with a snort. "Impossible. He's too fiery for Roman."

"Like Roman isn't a ball of idiotic fire." Virgil matched.

"I'll amend my statement: He  _ used _ to be the perfect match for Roman. But now? Roman barely puts up with us back-talking him, and we've always done that." Remy shook his head sadly. "He'll never put up with it now, not from this stranger."

"I don't know, he might." Thomas offered. "He was pretty caught off-guard earlier today. He didn't even throw Darrell out. That has to be worth something."

"Even so, do you think we have the time for it?" Remy asked. "We're so few petals away from... from whatever the Hell happens when the rose dies."

"We stay like this forever, Rem, you know that." Emile said gently.

"But how? Are we going to be doomed to be living furniture forever? Or- or-" Remy stopped, leaning against the window-door they had reached. "Are we going to die like this? Are we just going to objects, as dead as they should be?"

"...I don't know." Emile admitted.

"I don't want to lose you Emile. And goodness forbid Roman be stuck wandering the castle, a monster, stuck to look at the objects that used to be some form of family to him." Remy said. "Even I wouldn't wish that upon him."

"Me neither." Virgil said. "But we just won't know until..."

"Until the last petal falls." Thomas filled in, sounding equally weary.

They sat in gloomy silence for a moment before Remy straightened and banged his arm against the glass, startling the others.

"Okay, then!" He exclaimed. "If we're going to be dead or otherwise in a few weeks, we're going to make our attempts to stop it count!"

"By which you mean...?" Virgil trailed off.

Remy wiggled his eyebrows and lit up his candles. "It's time for the ultimate game of matchmaker."


	6. The Prisoner Causes Trouble for Everyone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darrell, purposefully or accidentally, is messing with a lot of people.  
> And all he's doing in this chapter is moving about in his room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Swearing, yelling, threat of withholding food, mention of head injury, self-deprecation, shattering glass  
> If I need to add anything, just tell me!

Back in the village, Father was absolutely miserable.

Not that anyone noticed the sad man in the corner of the tavern. Not when sad prettiest man in the town was on full display in front of the fire.

It wasn't that Patton was trying to take attention from Father. He had spent the last hour or so trying to console him that Darrell would be fine, he was probably just hiding out at another village, local authorities would grab him if they saw him and bring him right back, perfectly safe and sound.

But when you're the most eligible bachelor in town, people tend to pay a lot of attention to you. Whether you like it or not.

Currently, someone was at Patton's shoulder, trying to tell him he had done his best, and it wasn't his fault that the deformed Darrell had refused his gracious advances.

Patton didn't care much for whoever was at his shoulder.

Had Patton extended the dinner offer to Darrell out of pity? Yes. That was an unavoidable answer.

But would it have come anyways, at some point? Patton just wasn't sure. He had loved hanging out with Darrell, seeing how his face lit up talking about his books. But Patton loved whenever anyone was happy. He still wasn't sure if, with Darrell, it had been anything more.

And after everything that happened, Patton wasn't sure he'd ever figure out. There was just so much else around Darrell and his feelings. And with nearly all the townspeople convinced his offer had been 100% out of pity, well... it was a mess.

His attention was pulled back out of his own thoughts when the pitch of his 'companion's' tone changed. He was wondering if his blatant ignorance of everything he was saying was becoming clear. Instead he found…

_"Gosh it disturbs me to see you, Patton,_

_Looking so down in the dumps."_

He was... singing?

The companion went on, wandering over to a musician in the corner and paying them, while Patton sought out Father's eyes from across the tavern. He shrugged, as confused as Patton, as to what was going on.

_"No one's... slick as Patton, no one's quick as Patton, no one's neck is as incredibly thick as Patton's..."_

Patton continued to watch the man dance and sing around the tavern. He wondered vaguely if he was trying to court Patton.

Tasteless, given the current condition of things, but not surprising.

Patton got a feeling the man was waiting for him to join the song and dance, but Patton was perfectly fine with just letting him continued. He wondered how long it'd go on for if he just... didn't intervene.

Went on quite a while, actually. There were a _lot_ of refrains. And the rhyming fell out halfway through. To his own credit, Patton smiled through the entire thing.

It was quite possible it would have gone on forever were it not for the accident that occurred during the refrain, _'No one jumps like Patton'_ (jumps, really?). This refrain apparently required a physical demonstration of jumping over Patton's head.

He stumbled and hit his head instead.

Patton felt bad.

The man was just being carried out when a constable bustled in, sparing a glance at the man still drunkenly singing under his breath.

The constable looked away and turned to the nearest patron. "Uh, I'm looking for a Patton?"

Patton, overhearing his name, waved at the officer of the law. "Over here, constable. What can I help you with?"

The man hurried over. "Uh, my superior sent me to tell you that the man you're looking for- a Darrell, right?- is nowhere to be found in any of the towns under our watch."

Patton's eyes widened. "Nowhere? You're sure?"

The constable nodded. "We've searched every town, every house, every corner. We've asked everyone. Your friend is nowhere to be found."

Darrell's Father, having come over, paled slightly. "But if he's not in the town-"

"Constable, thank you for the message." Patton said, briefly ignoring Father. "You can leave, now."

The constable nodded and headed off. Patton turned to address Father. "If Darrell isn't in the towns, he must be out wandering the forest somewhere. I'm going out to search for him." Patton assured him. "I'll find him."

"I'm going with you." Father said. "I can't just ask you to go looking for _my_ son alone."

"You're not asking. I'm doing it because he's my friend, and I don't want him hurt."

"And I'm his Father." Father said before repeating, "I'm going with you."

Patton sighed. "I'd try harder to convince you to stay, but I doubt it'll work."

"It won't." 

Patton got up and gestured for Father to come with him. "Come on. I've got an extra horse you can ride on."

And they set off into the woods.

~~

"This is an awful plan."

Remy rolled his eyes at Virgil. "Such a pessimist. This is going to go wonderfully!"

"For once, Rem, I agree with Virgil." Emile said, watching as the kitchen bustled with life. "You think Roman's just going to accept the stranger eating with him, no argument?"

"Not at all." Remy responded. "But I don't have enough fucks to give anymore. I'd rather anger Roman and get my fingers back than not in exchange for not getting yelled out."

As if on cue, there was a roar from the dining room and the sound of crashing.

Remy jumped onto another table. "Ah, the yelling. Right on time."

The dining doors burst open and Roman stormed in, fire in his eyes.

Yelling: "You're feeding the prisoner?!" He demanded, the second table setting having not been missed by him.

Remy rolled his eyes. "Well we're not going to starve him."

Roman seemed thrown off balance by this. "Well, no, of course not-"

"Then why did you ask if we're feeding the prisoner?" Remy asked. "Sounds like you want him to starve."

Roman growled. "Don't test me, Remington-"

"Oh my full name, I'm so afraid-"

"-I want to know why you're feeding the prisoner at the same time as me. And not with, like... prisoner food."

"Hate to break this to ya Beasty, but food isn't categorized by the types of people who eat it."

"That aside," Emile broke in, not wanting his husband to get crushed by Roman due to his obsession with sass, "we do think you should eat with Darrell."

"Who?"

"Darrell. The prisoner."

"And why, pray tell, would I want to eat with the prisoner?"

"Because you don't like clogging your bathtub every time you bathe." Virgil said. "And you want to wear your old clothes again."

Roman's face briefly scrunched in confusion before he glared at the objects. "Wait. You're trying to break the curse?"

"No, we just have nothing better to do than play matchmaker." Remy said.

"I mean," Emile started, "you meant that sarcastically, but you're not wrong."

"You know it won't work." Roman said.

"Not with that attitude it won't!" Thomas said. "Or with the utter lack of communication between you two."

"Now, now, Thomas." Virgil tutted. "They've spoken once. Clearly they're communicating perfectly well."

"There's nothing to communicate." Roman said while crossing his arms. "He's my prisoner. That's the end of our relationship."

"Only because you're not letting it be something more." Remy cooed.

"I'm perfectly happy with it being nothing more."

"You might say so," Emile said, "but we know you're lying."

"And even if you weren't, we're not happy with it being nothing more." Remy continued. "We would like to be human again."

"I'm not exactly human either." Roman grumbled.

"Yeah but you're being stubborn and grouchy."

Roman huffed. "Alright. Alright. What do you expect me to do?"

"Court him!" They all said at once.

"I got that part. _How_ do you expect me to, eh, 'court' him?"

"Well definitely not with your winning personality." Virgil responded. "And apparently the prettiest thing about you now is your horns, so not your looks either."

"This feels like you're trying to mock me, not help me."

"I'm multitasking." Virgil said. "Seriously, though, just be not mean and you're already halfway there to Darrell maybe liking you."

"Smile, too." Remy added. "Snarls aren't becoming."

"And, I know you've struggled with this even before... everything, but at least pretend to have manners." Emile begged. "Please and thank you both go a very long way."

"Even I know that." Thomas chimed in.

Roman groaned but nodded. "Fine. I'll go _politely_ ask him to dinner."

"We'll come with you." Remy said. "Not that we don't trust you to try and eat him while we're not around, but I wouldn't put it past you to throw him out a window."

"Nice to know you still trust me, Rem."

"Last time someone was near the castle you almost broke their leg."

"That was two years ago!"

"The point stands!"

Emile poked Remy. "Stop being mean. Let's just go."

"But I'm _supposed_ to tell the truth, Emmmmm."

Roman rolled his eyes. "I'm going with or without you guys." He said, already beginning the walk to the East Wing. The group followed, and after a few minutes Remy and Emile stopped fighting about taking words out of context.

Once he got to Darrell's door, however, he hesitated. "This is stupid."

"Yeah, probably." Virgil agreed. "But stupid's coincidentally your favorite thing to do."

Roman rolled his eyes and, after another moment of putting it off, knocked on the door.

Within, Darrell glanced away from the golden branches he had been examining. "Who is it?"

"Uh, Roman." Roman shuffled his hooves. "The Master of the Castle."

"Yeah, pretty horn dude. How can I help you?"

"I'm inviting you to dinner." Roman said, before hastily adding, "That's not a request."

"Sounded like a request." Darrell muttered to himself before saying, "Uh, cool. But I think I'm good."

Roman glanced at the objects, confused. "What do I do now?" He mouthed.

"Manners!" Emile mouthed back.

"Please come to dinner?" Roman tried.

"Um, still no. I like the please, though." Darrell responded, tucking himself underneath his bed. In case the Beast got angry and took back the whole 'I-won't-kill-you' thing.

Roman snarled from the other side of the door and Darrell decided the bed would probably not help him. "You are coming to dinner with me!"

"How about... no." Darrell mentally acknowledged the stupidity in repeatedly turning down the angry Beast, but he wasn't even that hungry at the moment. Not to mention, how awkward would that be? Just trying to casually eat and converse with the creature that had made you a prisoner in a castle with talking tea sets and insomnia singing wardrobes?

So, yeah, he'd pass.

Roman seemed to think this was a broach of prisoner protocols and extremely rude of him.

"YOU WILL JOIN ME FOR DINNER!"

"Uhhhhh I think I said I will _not_." Darrell responded. "But, um, thank you very much for the offer. It is noted."

Roman let out a long-suffering sigh before turning to the objects and, in a voice loud enough for Darrell to perfectly hear it, "If he won't eat with _me,_ then he doesn't eat _at all._ "

And with that, he stormed off and out the window.

The objects took a second to showcase to each other their very best 'disappointed, but not surprised' faces.

From inside his room, Darrell slipped his head out from the bed to check that the Beast wasn't going to swing around and smash in a window to kill him in a more surprising and (thanks to the broken glass) a more dangerous way.

When it seemed he was mostly safe, Darrell slipped from under his bed to back on top of it. He wasn't dead, and this was good.

However, he was now not allowed to eat, and that was probably going to pose a problem to him soon enough.

In his own room, Roman slammed open the door, rushing forwards for the last mirror in the castle. A small hand mirror with a twisted, glowing-green frame made of silver. The only actual gift from the Enchanter who had trapped him here.

The Enchanter- Logan, after all these years of him being the only being outside of the castle Roman could see, he eventually picked up his name- appeared in the mirror the minute it was in Roman's paws. He used to appear in every mirror in the castle, though those mirrors weren't magic.

It didn't matter what they were, anyways, since Roman destroyed them all and scattered the shards in a back corner of the yard. He had smashed the magic mirror multiple times as well, but it always came back, so he stopped trying.

"Roman." Logan greeted, his image in the corner of the mirror, looking as though time hadn't even dared to touch him. Roman wouldn't be surprised if that was true. "It's been a while since you last looked in here."

"Shut up." Roman growled before commanding the mirror, "Show me the boy."

There was a green swirl, one that didn't displace Logan, before Darrell appeared, peering out one of the windows of his room.

"Where are you, Beasty Beasty Beasty?" He murmured under his breath. "Are you coming to kill me? Because that'd be ruuude."

"Is this the newest fool to enter your castle?" Logan asked as Roman threw the mirror away from him, no longer wishing to see his prisoner. "He's lovely, you know. A little bit of scarring, yes. But he's still more than you."

Roman snarled at the mirror, even though it would do him no good. "You're one to talk. Hiding in reflections, like a coward."

"Am I hiding in reflections?" Logan asked, as calmly as ever. "Or are you just hiding from your own?"

Roman roared and, taking the mirror once more, flung it against the wall. It shattered immediately, the pieces flying across the entire room, but it didn't soothe Roman. Even as he watched, the shards began to move back towards each other, Logan's face of disapproval mocking him from every one of them.

Roman turned from the mess to lean against the table holding his entire life, and the life of all his staff. The rose was no longer as beautiful and perfect as it had been when Logan offered it to him on that stormy night. The stem was weak and the flower's head drooped, petals fallen all around it. Only a few were still attached to the rose, and they no longer glowed. They were just waiting to fall.

"It doesn't matter anyways." He muttered to himself, gently running his fingers down the side of the glass container protecting the rose. "It's not like my reflection will ever change."


	7. Be Our Guest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A song happens, the author faces the biggest problem in the BatB movies (no one eats during the Be Our Guest song and I feel betrayed), and something more sinister (but then sweet) happens as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Threat of starvation, denial of food, spoon attack, mentions of facial scarring (no details), yelling, animal abuse (in self-defense), frostbite (mentioned/hinted at), minor descriptions of blood/injury  
> If I need to add anything, let me know!

Back down in the kitchens, the objects looked up, where they heard the roar and following shatter.

"I thought he had stopped destroying that mirror." Virgil said. "He knows it doesn't help anything."

"If it makes him feel better, power to him." Remy countered. "The Enchanter was probably talking to him again."

"Logan's not that awful, you know." Emile pointed out. "He's just trying to prove a point."

"Yeah, well, as someone who wasn't involved in that point, I'm kinda insulted my life's one of the ones on the line." Remy said, annoyed. "I want an apology."

"You could always go ask for one." Thomas said with a grin. "Just sneak into the West Wing and see how that goes."

"If another few petals fall, I will."

The group was torn from their conversation from the sound of something tumbling down the nearest stairs, followed by steps approaching the dining room door. The objects moved from the kitchen into the dining room, finding the door still closed.

A moment later, it was opened to reveal a slightly roughed-up Darrell, who immediately stopped in place when he saw the group.

"Um. I'm totally not here to steal food." Darrell said, slowly backing up. "So like. I'll go back to my prison tower and no one needs to mention this to Mr. Growl."

Virgil rolled his eyes. "Get back here. We're not going to let you starve."

"But uh. Roman seems to think you are."

Remy waved an arm. "Roman's having another pity party. He won't notice we're feeding you. Besides, even if he did, what's he going to do? Kill you?"

"I'd consider it a possibility, sure." Darrell responded.

"Are you sure you should do this, Rem?" Emile asked, Darrell not having even realized he was also following with them. "Dinnertime dancers can be very... loud."

"Yeah, yeah." Remy dismissed the problem. "That is the risk of the artform."

"It really isn't, you're just making it into a risk."

"With me it's the same thing, _mon amour._ "

Darrell slid into the chair nearest to him. "I don't need a show or anything, guys, I'm just hungry. I'll take a bread crust if you've got that-"

"We're not going to feed you prisoner food!" Remy protested. "Geez, you really think just like him, don't you?"

"Who, Roman?"

"He thought we should feed you prisoner food too." Emile said. "Though you really can't classify food like that."

"Uh huh." Darrell said, slightly confused. "Um, no bread crusts then. But still food?"

"Food, yes!" Remy agreed, hopping onto the table while Emile rolled his eyes and headed back into the kitchen. "But a show, too!"

"I really just want the food."

"Too bad!"

As if on cue, the lights in the dining room dimmed. A dappled red-orange-and-yellow light fell on Remy. Darrell glanced up, finding the source of it to be the Dragon Witch, scales somehow risen upwards to allow the single light source left (a window near the ceiling) to reflect off of them and right at Remy.

"Mon cher, Monsieur! It is with a lot of pride, and plenty of pleasure, that me and the dinnertime dancers present to you your dinner!" Remy said dramatically before launching into,

_"Be... Our... Guest, be our guest, put our service to the test!"_

Darrell leaned back in his seat. He really would have just preferred the food straight away but, hey, this was better than trying to decide how much nutritional value there was in dust and bedsheets.

_"...tie your napkin round your neck, cherie..."_

A napkin got thrown at his face, flopping off into his lap. Darrell left it there, deciding it wasn't worth the bother to actually tie it around his neck. He was 90% sure Remy rolled his eyes at him for that.

What appeared to be a coat hanger had started to spin around him, proffering plates and bowls, but swiping them away before he could actually eat anything. Darrell's attempts to grab something were met with air and the reminder he was hungry.

_"...try the grey stuff; it's delicious..."_

Darrell scowled as the plate of grey stuff was yanked away. "Well I'm trying!"

_"...they can sing, they can dance..."_

"They can steal all your food." Darrell muttered as he watched spoons fly around. Impressive? Of course! But he was hungry and grumpy.

_"...beef ragout, cheese soufflé,_

_pie and pudding, on flambé,_

_we'll prepare and serve with flair_

_a culinary cabaret..."_

Darrell, whose seat had now turned into a prison after he attempted to get up and chase the carts that never came close enough to sample from, causing the chair arms to wrap around his stomach, complained, "It's not considered serving if I don't eat any of it."

Remy ducked in front of him for a second with a wink. "Would you pay attention if you were eating?"

"Well I sure would be enjoying the show more." Darrell replied, crossing his arms as Remy threw himself back into the dance. Emile was also wandering around the table, having been dumped off one of the carts, though he clearly didn't actually have a role to play in the energetic dance-and-song number.

_"...no one's gloomy or complaining_

_when the flatware's entertaining..."_

"I am!" Darrell protested, ignoring the look Remy gave him. "I came here for food!!!"

_"...to be our guest, if you're stressed, it's fine dining we suggest..."_

Darrell, head leaning on the table, sighed. "But... I'm so hungry... and therefore stressed... feed me..."

Remy, with a wink, came over and plopped a plate with chicken in front of Darrell.

"Finally!" Darrell said, sitting up and grabbing his fork. It was more manners than he felt like using, but he had to at least pretend he wasn't a complete peasant.

_Clang_

Darrell jerked his hands back after Remy knocked the fork out of his grasp. "What the Hell-"

Remy had already moved on, having made his way to the other end of the table much too quickly for a tiny candle person. He jumped over the edge, still singing about boring servant life in the castle, tugging the tablecloth away from Darrell.

Incidentally, Emile was also on the table cloth. Apparently this wasn't the newest thing to happen to him, as the clock simply crossed his arms and waited to be tugged over the edge, caught just in time to be brought back up to a tableclothless (and foodless) table.

The only light in the room briefly went out, leaving Darrell to try and see what was happening before him on the table. His attention was diverted when a set of doors to his left opened up, a tray zooming out, actually going within his reach.

Virgil was sitting on it, looking vaguely amused. "I'm supposed to be singing." he whispered. "But I'm not really a singer. How much sugar do you want?"

Darrell accepted the tea cup (not Thomas, luckily, he didn't really want to drink from a talking object) and gulped it down in one. "This is the only sustenance I've been given since I sat down." He admitted, putting the cup back down.

"Remy has a minor ego." Virgil joked. "He likes all eyes on him when he performs."

The cart start wheeling away and Virgil sighed loudly as he added, "Which is why I'm now being taken out of the scene. Bye."

Darrell did a mini wave. "Bye."

Darrell focused his attention forward once more, finding that in the darkness Remy had set up a huge barrage of elements. He himself popped out of a small, fake house surrounded by rainbow glitter as rows of swan-like feather dusters sung over his own words.

Darrell had to hand it to him, it was colourful, it was impressive, it was well put together. But for a dinner show, it was lacking severely in the food arena.

There was a well put together bit where practically everything disappeared until all that was left was Remy, slightly breathless, in his face and proffering a tray of pudding.

"Pudding?"

Darrell slowly reached out, waiting for the pudding to be removed from his grasp. When Remy actually let him reach, however, he quickly grabbed the small cup and sucked it all down.

"You, good sir, are mean." Darrell said the minute the cup was completely clean. "I'm hungry and you just keep taunting me with all this food, not letting me eat _any_ of it."

"Well, at least tell me you enjoyed the show." Remy said. Darrell glanced around his feet as spoons and feather dusters filed out of the room, having been hiding under the table in between turns.

"Yeah, it was cool." Darrell said with a wave of his hand. "But I wanted _food._ "

"I don't think you're appreciative enough of my art."

" _Food,_ Remy, food."

"If you're going to keep being so rude to me, maybe I'll just leave you trapped in your chair."

Darrell glanced down at the chair, its arms still entrapping him.

"Please let me go?" Darrell tried. "I do have good things to say, I just can't properly express them when I'm restrained."

"I have a funny feeling you're going to try and attack me."

"What gives you that impression?" Darrell asked innocently, hiding the spoon he had grabbed behind his back.

Remy squinted before climbing off the table and hurrying over to the door to the kitchen.

"I'm going to let you go." Remy said slowly. "But for the record, when you attack me, I saw it coming." With that declaration, Remy clapped his arms.

Immediately, the chair unwrapped and went back to looking normal. Darrell deliberately stood up, brushing off his shirt. "Thank you."

He then rushed at Remy with his spoon.

Remy instantly turned around and ducked into the kitchen, yelling, "I knew it! I knew it!"

"That's going to help you a lot when I hit you with my spoon!" Darrell yelled after.

"That... sounds... really lame!"

"Then why are you still running?"

Virgil watched them run about from where he was stationed on one of the counters.

"Is this why you didn't let me go out during the show?" Thomas asked, watching next to Virgil. "So Darrell wouldn't want to kill me?"

"That was a small part of it, I guess." Virgil replied. "I mostly didn't want you to ruin my silent protest by singing."

"I wouldn't have!"

"Yes you would."

"...okay, yeah, I would."

The chase continued until Remy hid himself behind one of the trays from earlier. Faced with either vengeance or food, Darrell picked food.

"So," Darrell started a few minutes later, putting the lid back on top of the now-empty tray of beef ragout, "back to my room, I assume?"

"As long as you can be trusted not to get lost." Virgil quipped.

"Or fall." Thomas added. "I mean, I assume that's what the noise from earlier was."

"Whether or not I, with my damaged eyesight, accidentally missed a step and took a minor tumble is none of your businesses." Darrell replied. "I can get to my room perfectly well, thank you very much."

"Uh huh. Be on your way, ungrateful show critic!" Remy said with a dramatic wave. Surprisingly bravely given he was currently sitting on top of the oven, one hundred percent because he didn't want to get hit by a spoon.

Darrell rolled his eye and headed back into the main castle. Outside the kitchen, he took a second to smile and go over what had just happened again. He had casually mentioned his eyesight was bad, calling direct attention to the scarring.

And nobody had cared. No sudden pity. Only Remy continuing to treat him like an ungrateful man for wanting to eat.

Lost in his thoughts, Darrell didn't even realize he was walking towards the west of the castle, and not down the corridor to his own room.

Once he did realize, he didn't stop. He knew he had been told to stay out of the West Wing, but Darrell was nothing if not stupidly curious. Besides, who was to say where the west wing started? Guess he'd just have to keep walking until he saw a sign or something…

There were no signs, as Darrell had been expecting. Instead, there was just a rather drab hallway filled with doors that either didn't open or only revealed dusty sitting rooms and bedrooms.

By the time he reached the final doorway in the hall, he was sure he'd just find another dull bedroom. He didn't understand why it was all locked off. Maybe Roman was embarrassed by how boring it was?

"And behind door number ten." Darrell murmured, pushing open the door, ready to find the room filled with reasons to sneeze and beds that looked very comfy but a little old.

That was not what he found.

The room was torn up, all the furniture in it tipped over and ripped to near shreds. The wallpaper was hanging off the wall in scraps and the wood beneath had been indented with what appeared to be claw marks. The few paintings on the walls were just as destroyed. One of the most grievously damaged ones seemed to feature a nuclear family, the area where the child's head would have been completely missing.

"So this is why I'm supposed to stay out of the West Wing." Darrell breathed out to himself, feeling as though every step he took deeper into the room, and the echo that came with it, were disturbing the unnatural silence that filled the room.

Stepping up slightly, Darrell found at the end of the room was a window opening up onto an impressive balcony. But his attention was caught on the table that sat just a little ways before the door.

The table itself was fine, Darrell supposed. What it was holding was the most interesting part. There was a hand mirror, its twisted silver frame glowing a light green and perfectly reflecting the ceiling above it. Beside it was a glass case, covering a floating rose.

The rose looked like it was dying, as if it used to glow and flourish, but had been horribly abused. Many of its petals were lying about beneath it. The only thing that gave it away as being special was, as stated, the fact that it was seemingly supported in the air by nothing.

Darrell knew he really shouldn't touch the rose. It looked magical, and also dying. Both of those were things that meant 'do not touch.'

But _together_ they made something that, at the very least, Darrell should be able to look at without slightly dirty glass in the way. Carefully, channeling all his shakiness into his legs instead of his fingers, Darrell began to lift up the case.

Suddenly, there was a thud beside him. Darrell dropped the case immediately, cringing at how it shook slightly before settling without touching the rose.

"What are you doing?!" Roman screamed, glancing at the rose.

"Uh, I'm, I'm just-"

"You could have doomed us all!" Roman turned from the rose to approach Darrell. His fur had bristled, teeth bared. Darrell hadn't feared the Beast up until then, not really. But right then, right there, seeing the anger in his eyes, he understood why the objects had warned him to stay away from the West Wing.

"I-" Darrell felt the door against his back and immediately started searching, without taking his eyes from the Beast, for the doorknob.

"GET OUT!" Roman roared. Clutching the cold metal behind him, Darrell was more than happy to oblige.

Darrell rushed down the hallway as quickly as his legs would take him, slamming against the wall as he turned back towards the front doors. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the objects hurrying out of the kitchen, having been drawn by the Beast's ruckus.

"Darrell!" Emile called out as they all ran to get in his path. "Where are you going?!"

"Anywhere that's not here or home." Darrell cried out. Despite the objects' attempts to stop him, his legs were longer by a landslide, and he was slamming the door open and out into the courtyard before they were even close enough to get in his path.

The cold bit at his skin immediately, and he especially felt it tear at his burned skin, but he didn't even consider turning back. Aside from how awkward that would be, he didn't want to face Roman again. He didn't mean anything by picking up the case, but that didn't matter now.

He wasn't going against the Beast now.

He pried open the gates, happy to find no wolves just waiting for his flesh. He darted off in the direction he thought the path was in, but the snow had started swirling even worse, and he was sure that he was going the wrong way.

Right then, it didn't matter.

He hadn't gotten far when he realized that along with his own footfalls, there were other feet crashing through the snow. Darrell didn't have to guess that his old wolf pals had actually caught up with him. He knew.

He tried to get into another tree, but his hands were already going numb, and the trees were slick with the snow and ice clinging to them. Darrell's first attempt ended in a stumble, and the second had him actually fall into the snow.

The sound of snow crunching slowed down as it continued around him, the wolves circling as he started to push himself up. Even as he did, however, he knew it was a lost cause; his arms were practically useless now, too cold to properly function.

He managed to roll over onto his back, refusing to die without at least facing his death. He regretted it almost immediately when he found a wolf breathing into his face.

But, hey, minor fight-or-flight responses meant he just punched a wolf in the face, so that's one thing off the bucket list.

Darrell felt a little bad as the wolf let out a yelp, but it was his life or that yelp, so he didn't regret it long.

Not that it would even matter for long given that the hit wolf looked ready to taste blood and the other wolves were ready to back them up. A true friend group, honestly.

Darrell took up as best a fighting stance as his could given that his limbs were almost completely void of feeling and he was a weakling.

Before he could worry about it too much, however, something barreled into the clearing, slamming into the side of the leader of the pack. Darrell took a step back, watching as the wolf flew off into another patch of trees, the blur still in the center of the wolf group.

The blur, Darrell now realized that he wasn't actually a blur, was Roman.

His fur was still standing up, but now that he wasn't facing Darrell, the obvious anger and power targeted at the wolves was a comfort to Darrell. Two more wolves lunged at once, ready to avenge their leader. He merely swatted them away, not even wincing when one of them briefly dug their teeth into his arm.

One that had been behind Darrell snarled, making to move forward and bite the obviously weaker one of the pair. He had just barely jerked his leg out of the way when Roman had spun around, eyes blazing, as he reached out to grab the offending wolf.

It struggled in his grasp for a moment, claws flying and teeth clashing, before Roman threw them to the side. They whimpered before running off.

Darrell, panting slightly from the adrenaline, looked around for another wolf, but he didn't see any. He turned back to Roman, who didn't look nearly as worn out.

"You... you good?" He asked shakily.

Roman started to nod, but the sentiment was ruined by the fact he had barely gotten his head through the dip part of the nod before he collapsed forwards. Darrell knew better than to try and catch him, but he was on his knees shaking him immediately.

"Roman? Hey, Roman, this is the opposite of good." Darrell said humorlessly.

Roman didn't respond. In fact, he barely even stirred from Darrell's shaking.

Darrell took a deep breath, trying not to panic as he checked out Roman's arm. The spot where the wolf had bit him was worse than he expected, having broken the skin enough to bleed onto the snow. Darrell couldn't turn him over much more, but he was sure there probably scratches on his chest and other arm as well.

Darrell looked up, in the direction of the castle. The snow storm had abated slightly, and he could see the tall stone structure not too far in the distance. But there was still the problem of carrying Roman, much heavier than Darrell's carrying weight, there. He very briefly considered pulling him along, but he didn't want to worsen the cuts.

Darrell glanced around.

_Please, there had to be something, he couldn't just let his scary accidental savior die in the snow for his troubles-_

_There_

Darrell let out a sigh in relief and hurried towards the huge stripping of tree bark he noticed, leaned against a tree that might have been big enough to be the source of it.

Grabbing it, he wondered briefly how it had stayed so dry in the storm, but that didn't matter right then. He tugged it over to Roman, apologizing as he semi-roughly shoved it under the unconscious man-beast.

Double-checking that Roman was actually on the board, Darrell started pulling him towards the castle.

By the time he was back to the castle's doors, Darrell wasn't sure if he had ever had nerves in his body. He was quite sure he was actually an icicle.

But this icicle had a goal, so he shoved open the heavy doors and pulled Roman in.

He was immediately flooded by the objects, all of them looking extremely worried.

"Wha-"

Darrell shook his head, cutting Emile off. "Q-q-questions later. We-we need-d-d to g-get him to-to the fire first-t."

"Not just him." Remy said, clapping his arms and causing an immediate reaction of bigger furniture rushing forwards. A big armchair seemed to defy its nature to bend down and scoop up Roman, and the coat hanger that earlier refused to feed him offered Darrell a metaphorical hand to follow the chair to the fire.

Another chair had appeared for Darrell to sit in, but he waved it away, focused on trying to make his own chattering teeth stop for long enough he could get Emile to get him a towel, and maybe a bucket of warm water?

Emile tried to convince Darrell that he was doing about as well as Roman, and he should really let them take care of it, but Darrell's metaphorically frostbitten mind had picked one task to focus on and over his dead body was he not going to complete it.

As the fire warmed his limbs enough to bend without feeling like they were going to snap, Darrell was able to focus more and more on cleaning out Roman's cuts. He had been right- along with the bite marks on his right arm, there were a few miscellaneous scratches across his other arm and chest.

They weren't too much to worry about, luckily, and Darrell knew the only thing he'd have to focus on wrapping up would be the bite. Emile had just found a wrap of gauze for him when Roman started to stir.

"Oh, good." Darrell sighed, taking a minute to sit back on his heels. "You're not dead. Thank goodness. Would've been a waste of all my hard work if you had been deceased."

Roman blinked sluggishly. "Why... why would I have been dead?"

"You ran into the snow storm and took on, like, four wolves." Darrell answered, hoping that this was just Roman being cocky and not actually forgetful. He couldn't have a concussion from a fall into the snow, right? "And then unfairly fainted and left me to save your hide."

"It sounds like I saved your hide first." Roman replied.

"Ah, good." Darrell said, starting to unwrap the gauze. "You don't have a concussion!"

"Why wou-"

"I don't think people with major head injuries can be so snarky."

"Snarky?" Roman asked, collecting his senses surprisingly fast. "I saved your life!"

"Only after endangering it." Darrell matched.

"It's not my fault you ran away."

"You shouldn't have roared at me." Darrell said, though given he was violating a space he wasn't supposed to be in, maybe Roman had a minorly good excuse for the rude welcome.

"You shouldn't have been in the West Wing." Roman snarled back, tone still quiet and rough.

"Well maybe you control your temper." Darrell responded, also quietly, but the heat still there. Sort of. Roman _had_ saved Darrell's life, and he didn't want to just throw that back in his face. But given the state of that room... and his immediate reaction not only to the rose thing, but to Darrell not wanting to come to dinner, or to Darrell simply being in the castle…

Well. Roman wasn't the most even-tempered man in the castle, that was for sure.

At the very least, the response shut Roman up, whose eyes widened briefly in surprise before he turned away from Darrell. Awkward silence fell, broken at first only by Roman's quiet snarls of pain as Darrell told him to not jerk around too much while he wrapped the bite.

Then, after Darrell had finished and was busy doing nothing but avoiding Roman's eyes, "I like him."

Everyone turned to look at Remy, the offender of making that comment. He shrugged. "What can I say? _No one's_ stood up to Beasty since he became Beasty. You've got to be a keeper."

"He's not a keeper." Emile protested with a small smile. "He's the kept. Roman's the keeper."

"...Is that a kidnapping pun?"

"Ye-es."

"Emile, _je t'aime._ "

Virgil rolled his eyes. "Okay, you lovebirds, get over yourselves. We should probably get Princey to his bedroom."

"But, Virgil, we're so in love, we can't get over each other!" Remy exclaimed dramatically, slumping into Emile's waiting arms.

Emile, for his part, looked amused. "We can keep being lovebirds while we help Roman."

"I don't need help." Roman snarled, curling into himself with his cape pulled partly over him. "I'll be fine here."

Thomas, who had mostly been forced to be quiet while 'adult conversation and topics' were going on ("But, Virgil, it's just a scratch." Thomas had complained. "It's nothing I can't handle." Virgil had tutted in response, "You shouldn't even be up this late. Just sit in the corner for a bit, okay, or go back to bed.") chimed in, "You don't expect any of us to let that slide, do you?"

Roman glared at Thomas. "I order you to let it slide."

"Yeah, no." Darrell cut in, pushing himself to his feet, stifling a yawn to not give away the fact he should also be going to bed. He was sure he'd be called out on it eventually, but that was a matter to be dealt with in a bit. "You're going to sleep in your bed."

"I said-"

Darrell smiled and shrugged. "Not your staff, remember? Just a humble prisoner who's going to force you to your bed."

Roman let out another low growl. "Why did I save you?"

"This is an extremely fair question, given you seem to hate me and as a prisoner you technically have the right to let me die after escaping." Darrell responded, already starting to force Roman to his feet.

"Maybe he doesn't hate you." Remy said suggestively. "Mayhaps, he- oh, magnificent Em, what is the other word?"

Emile rolled his eyes. "What, lo-"

"Both of you, shut up." Roman ordered.

"Oh damn he's really got it bad." Remy said under his breath, yet still loud enough for Roman to hear, earning him another glare.

"Stop fighting, you two." Virgil ordered while Darrell gestured for the coat hanger (a helpful, multi-use coat hanger) to help him forcefully support the beastly man to his room. "You'll just rile the poor Princey up."

"You're all impertinent." Roman muttered, though Darrell could have sworn he saw a twitch of a smile.

"You know it!" Remy responded with a grin.

"Alright, alright." Darrell patted Roman's back as well as he could. "Ignore the impertinent staff. Let's get you to your bed."

"Darrell, are you taking his side?" Remy demanded, mockingly outraged. "Betrayal."

"I'm sorry, but I fear if I take the right side, I'll never get this one to bed."

"Darrell, are you telling me you don't actually think my staff is impertinent?"

"Yeah, I think I am." Darrell said with a chuckle.

He barely even noticed the pain from how it stretched his scars.


	8. Sparks Actually Start Flying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The two dorks at least kind of act like they're gay for each other.  
> They pretend not to be but... yeah  
> Also the author butchers 'Human Again'  
> ...this is the last song I'm forcing into my fic no worries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Getting sick, loneliness, brief mention of being injured, swearing  
> Tell me if there's anything I need to add!

Father slumped onto the neck of his horse, weary fingers still trying to grasp the mane tight enough to keep himself balanced on it. "We're never going to find him." He said sadly.

"Don't give up hope!" Patton said, but his cheery tone wavered. They had been searching for nearly a week straight, all the woods combed through. There was no sign whatsoever of Darrell, and they had no clue where he could possibly be.

"What else are we supposed to do, Patton?" Father asked. "I appreciate what you're doing, but I'm... I'm afraid we have to accept that wherever 'El is, we're not going to find him."

Patton let his rigid posture fall a bit. "Yeah, you're probably right. But I still feel awful. I'd like to believe the constables just missed him in a town, but..."

"The woods are huge." Father finished. "He could have simply looped around us while we searched."

They lapsed into silence for a second, broken only by the occasional owl hoot.

"What do we do now?" Father asked.

Patton sighed. "I guess... I guess we go home. We can keep searching the woods if you want, but... I don't think we're going to find him."

Father nodded. "I don't think we're going to find him either."

Patton nodded with him and quietly spurred his horse back towards the village. With another glance around the woods, Father followed him.

After a few minutes, Father sneezed.

"Bless you." Patton said immediately.

"Thanks." Father responded, wiping at his nose. He tried not to shiver in the relatively mild night.

It would be good for him to get home. Have some soup, take a nap. He felt awfully tired.

~~

"I don't know, Roman, I'm not sure you're up to it." Darrell teased, watching as the Beast sat up on his bed. Roman glared at him.

"My arm's injured, not my legs." He countered, sounding annoyed. "And it's been a week. I think I can walk."

"You think?" Darrell tutted. "I wouldn't trust your thinking if I were you."

"Why does your every word mock me?" Roman asked as he stood up, wandering towards one of the windows to peer out.

Darrell smirked. "You just make it so easy."

"You two still insulting each other?" Virgil asked, rolling in on a tray.

"Nope." Darrell responded. "So far I'm the only one contributing any wit to this conversation."

Roman turned back to face Darrell, frowning. "You and I have very different definitions of the word 'wit.'"

"Ohhhh Roman's finally hitting back." Darrell responded while he accepted his teacup from the tray. "With definitions."

"Shut up." Roman said, sipping his own tea.

"So, what's the plan for today?" Thomas asked, also on the tray. "More sitting in here and attacking each other?"

"Actually, Roman seems to think he's good to start wandering the castle again." Darrell answered.

"I'm sick of being stuck in here with you."

"Oof, Ro, I'm hurt." Darrell responded, with a grin, the nickname he had given Roman at some point through the week rolling of his tongue like it was the only one he had ever used for the Prince.

Roman raised his bandaged arm. "I'm the hurt one, remember?"

"Oh, are you? From what I recall, you've been spending all week trying to explain to me it's 'just a scratch' and 'I'm babying you.'"

"It is a scratch, but that still makes it an injury." Roman responded, sticking out the very tip of his tongue at Darrell. "And you _were_ babying me."

"We all baby you, Beasty." Remy cut in, him and Emile having wandered in for the sake mostly that Remy was bored and Emile had nothing better to do than follow Remy around. "What else would you call taking care of an infant?"

"I should throw you out a window." Roman told Remy, but his tone was too tame to offer any real threat.

"Yeah, probably." Remy replied with a shrug.

Darrell chuckled and finished his tea. "Okay, Roman, you going to dare the walk?"

"I don't know, Darrell, are you going to let me?" Roman joked back, already across the room to replace his cup on the tray. "Not that you _could._ "

"Oh, you wanna bet?" Darrell asked, setting aside his own cup as well.

"I'm bigger, stronger, and faster."

"Ahaha, but you are slightly weakened." Darrell responded. "All it would take it someone running fast enough to tangle themselves around your legs and trip you..."

Roman started running away immediately, going faster than a partly injured creature with awkward hooves should be able to.

Darrell cursed under his breath and followed.

Still in the bedroom, Remy laughed. "Oh my goodness- they're so gay for each other."

"This curse isn't going to be nearly as hard to break as we originally thought." Emile added. "Too bad Darrell there didn't show up a year ago or something. Getting back to being human a little earlier would've been nice."

"Now we shouldn't get ahead of ourselves." Virgil said cautiously, though he was smiling. "They've still got to actually admit it."

"Okay, well, how do we force the issue?" Thomas asked. When all the objects turned to stare at him, he defended, "What? Do you think if we leave these two to their own devices they'll admit it naturally?"

"Fair point, Thomas, they are disasters." Remy agreed. "We don't have the time for the disasters to admit they've disastrously gay for each other without our intervention."

"What do we do, then?" Emile asked.

"It'll have to be terribly romantic." Virgil said. "No iffy 'maybe we're just friends' about it."

"Definitely." Remy concurred. "Something they'll have to acknowledge immediately."

"A few days ago, Roman mentioned he wanted to give Darrell something to 'make them even' for the whole week of terrible bed-side-mannering." Thomas said. "We could start with figuring that out?"

"Start, sure." Remy said thoughtfully. "But we'll have to follow it up with something else even bigger."

"But what?" Emile asked.

They glanced around the group, no answer immediately clear. Emile nodded.

"We don't need an answer right this moment." He said, glancing around the room. "But we should at least be prepared for whatever we end up with."

Remy groaned. "Does that mean cleaning?"

"Yes."

"I don't _want_ to do cleaning."

"You haven't cleaned anything in years." Emile responded. "You'll survive."

"Will I, Em? Will I? Should we even take that risk?"

"We're taking the risk."

"Darn."

Emile glanced over at where Virgil and Thomas had started to wheel back out of the room. "And where are you two going?"

"Uh..." Thomas searched for an answer.

Virgil beat it to him with, "Anywhere that doesn't involve cleaning." The cart then rushed out of the room, taking Virgil and Thomas with it.

Emile rolled his eyes. "Come on, Rem, let's get them."

"So much effort, though." Remy said with a sigh.

"It's that or you start cleaning without them."

"Quickly, Em! We must catch the deserters!"

Emile laughed as Remy started to run after them, going quickly but, due to his small stature, not exactly making it too far. "You get those deserters, love."

~~

"You're... a dirty... cheater." Darrell huffed out, trying to glare at Roman while he was doubled over and catching his breath.

From his position on top of one of the courtyard walls, Roman laughed. "What? Can't climb?"

Darrell glanced at the steep, iced over stones making up the wall. "I can." He responded. "But this was supposed to be a chase, not a game of who can jump onto the highest thing."

"Just admit you can't climb it."

"I'd like to see _you_ climb that frozen wall." Darrell returned.

"I would show you just how superior my climbing skills are, but I fear you'd try to attack me the minute I got down to demonstrate."

"Ah, come now Roman, who do you take me for?" Darrell said with a smile. "Also, don't ask Remy who he takes me for, because he's a liar."

"You've already attacked Remy?"

"I didn't, because I'm not the type of person to attack people or objects or anything else, but if I was, I'm sure it was for an incredibly good reason."

Roman chuckled. "I'm not surprised you, eh, _didn't_ attack him. Remy has a winning personality that makes him extremely not punchable."

"You're one to talk." Darrell replied, having moved to swat at Roman's hooves, just sticking out over the edge of the wall. "Cheater."

"There were no rules set for the chase except don't get caught. I think I kept to that rule pretty well, don't you?" Roman responded, pulling back his hooves.

"The only rule said that I have to catch you." Darrell said. "So get down here and let me win as rightfully decreed by the rules."

"I think you're making up the rules to suit your own wants." Roman protested.

"If you can't prove it, lose it." Darrell said. "Literally. Lose the game. Come down."

Roman sighed dramatically before sliding off the top of the wall. There was a thunk as he hit the ground, but Darrell ignored it to latch himself around the Beast.

"Caught you." He said victoriously. "I win."

Roman rolled his eyes. "Uh huh. Sure."

"You sound like you doubt my strength." Darrell teased. "Haven't you heard? I've caught the huge Beast who once called himself stronger and faster than I."

"That's because this victory is but a given one by a kind Prince." Roman teased back before wrapping his arms around Darrell to lift him up. "Now who's caught?"

"Still you. I grabbed first."

"If you say so." Roman said in a voice that sounded like he might not believe Darrell, which Darrell took as a huge insult. "Guess I'll just have to keep you prisoner til you admit to your mistake."

"I'm already a prisoner, remember?"

"Well, now you're a double prisoner."

"That's not a thing."

"Is now."

Both Roman and Darrell were ready to wait until the other gave in, but they were interrupted from their silent stand-off (if it even counted as a stand-off given only one of them was standing) when the familiar voice of Virgil sounded from behind them.

"You two know hugging in the courtyard is gay, right?"

Roman's eyes widened and he nearly dropped Darrell to the ground. Darrell himself pulled back immediately, checks having turned a slight shade of red. They both turned to face Virgil, Thomas giggling next to him, watching them with a smug look from the cart.

"We're not hugging!" Roman protested angrily.

"Uh, then what _were_ you doing?"

"Fighting." Darrell answered.

Virgil _totally_ looked like he believed that. "I've never heard of the form of fighting that involves holding each other closely."

"You don't get out enough, Virgil." Roman replied. "You see, it's very simple. Darrell had the silly notion he had caught me. To prove him wrong, I caught him."

"And then like the rude buffoon he is, refused to put me down until I admitted defeat." Darrell finished, almost with a straight face. "And I refused to admit defeat. I have to maintain my honor."

"Maintain your honor, or maintain your position in Roman's arms?" Thomas poked with another giggle.

Darrell wondered if the Beast could blush. Roman sure looked like he should be blushing, at the very least.

"My honor." Darrell replied. He smirked, trying to get past the still present burning in his cheeks. "It's not hard to get into Roman's arms."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

 _Well, shit_ Darrell thought, wishing Roman was even just a little bit less of a fool. Now he had to prove the point. With another smirk, he grabbed one of Roman's arms and maneuvered so that with a spin he was back in Roman's arms.

"Tada." He declared.

"That's even gayer than what you were doing before." Virgil responded, looking absolutely delighted.

"What are you even doing out here?" Roman asked, and it was clearly obvious to Darrell he was just trying to change the topic.

It seemed to be clearly obvious to Virgil and Thomas as well, but Virgil let it slide as he answered, "Escaping cleaning duty."

"Cleaning duty?" Darrell repeated.

"Emile's got the idea in his head that, since we have a guest, we should clean the place up." Thomas explained. "We're escaping getting stuck doing that."

"You two are my staff. Shouldn't you be used to cleaning?" Roman asked.

Virgil rolled his eyes. "We're cooking staff, Princey. Don't tell me you've already forgotten our jobs."

"...I won't tell you, no."

Before Virgil or Thomas could go off about that, there was a clunking noise from down the path. Glancing back, they found Remy was making his way towards them, panting.

"Virgil! Thomas! Stop- stop in the name of Emile!" He called out before catching sight of Darrell, still in Roman's arms.

"Oh." Remy said, starting to smile. "You guys are taking care of my job, I see."

Darrell, for the second time within too short of a time, jerked out of Roman's arms. "It's not what you think."

"It's exactly what you think." Virgil countered. "They just have a silly excuse for it that they think makes it less gay."

"Like either of you are any better." Roman matched.

"At least I'm open about my all-consuming gay love for Emile." Remy responded.

"And I'm gay but lonely." Virgil added. "I don't have a chance to rub my gay in everyone's face."

"You, on the other hand..." Thomas said, trailing off with a wiggle of his drawn-on eyebrows.

"Okay, I'm out of here." Roman said, starting off back towards the castle. "I'm not going to let you guys mock me."

"We'll mock you regardless of where you go." Virgil matched.

"Not if you want to avoid Emile." Roman replied with a grin, pointing over the overgrown plants to a part of the path only he could currently see. Emile was making his way down it. "You guys don't want to clean, right?"

Remy's eyes widened. "Ah yeah I'm supposed to be chasing you guys."

"But why chase us, Remy?" Virgil asked, cart already beginning to roll away as Remy jumped to get on it. "Join our side and avoid the cleaning."

"I can't betray my husband!"

"You wouldn't be betraying Emile, you'd be betraying cleaning."

Remy considered this proposition before yelling back down the path, "Em, what happens if I betray the side of cleaning?!"

"I won't kiss you."

"Sorry folks you guys are going to _clean._ "

The cart disappeared out of sight and earshot just as Remy made this declaration. Roman gestured for Darrell to follow him.

"Come on, quickly, before Emile comes by and accuses us of being gay, too." Roman said.

Darrell started after him while pointing out, "We are gay though."

"Yeah, but you know what I mean." Roman replied with a wave of his hand.

"So, where are we going?" Darrell asked after they moved back inside the castle. "Or are we just wandering wherever the staff isn't?"

"We're going somewhere, don't you worry." Roman replied.

"That's vague."

"Yep."

Further attempts to get Roman to spill his secret destination proved fruitless, and Darrell ended up just following him in silence, no clue what they could be making their way to.

Eventually, they came to a set of doors, similar to the ones into the ruined room in the West Wing. Roman paused before them, hesitant for the first time since he had started to lead Darrell there.

"Uh, listen, I have to explain what's behind this door might not be at its best." He said apologetically. "It's not been used in a while..."

Darrell rolled his eyes. "Most of this castle hasn't been used in a while. I don't care if it's dusty, Ro, just cut the suspense and show me already."

Roman raised an eyebrow. "Impatient, aren't we?"

"Just open the door."

"As you wish." Roman said, pushing open the doors. Darrell brushed by him as he dramatically bowed and stepped into the room.

Darrell had expected to find a dusty throne room or another dusty bedroom that Roman would promptly lock him in for the fun of it. He was not expecting to find possibly the most grand library he had ever seen (not that he had seen many).

Immediately across from the doors was a huge marble fireplace, logs already set up and ready to be lit. Comfy armchairs were set in front of it. Long oak tables stretched out to the sides of the room, mostly empty other than lamps centered on them and a few loose books left on them.

They were all minor details, however, compared to the books.

Shelves lined every wall of the room, brimming with them. Some even leaned upon the top of the fireplace mantel. Darrell wouldn't be surprised if they were favorites. But seeing as there must have been thousands, possibly _millions_ of books lining the library's walls, bound in beautiful leather and looking as though they had barely been touched, Darrell had no clue how anyone picked favorites.

Darrell slowly drifted further into the room, still gazing at everything in awe. The shelves were so high, long rolling ladders were attached to each wall, reaching far up to a ceiling Darrell now realized had constellations painted over a dark night sky. They seemed to shine.

And, Darrell noticed as he moved to look at one of the abandoned books, there wasn't a speck of dust in the room.

"I had Dragon Witch come in here." Roman explained as if he had read Darrell's mind. "I tried to do a bit of my own clean up, but there wasn't much time."

"Where... where did you get _any_ time?" Darrell asked, still wonderstruck.

"Sunk out of my room while you were sleeping." Roman responded. "Last two nights. Spent probably way too much time reshelving books." He shook his head. "There were a surprising amount of books left just laying about. I didn't manage to get to all of them, though..."

"Wait, you were sneaking out at night?" Darrell said, pulled very briefly from his book reverie.

"I'd say it wasn't easy, but you sleep like a brick." Roman said. "Although, honestly, you didn't have to camp out every night on the couch in my room."

"The wardrobe in my wouldn't shut up." Darrell said grumpily. "And I didn't trust you to not sneak out. Not that it mattered, it seems."

Roman shrugged with a grin. "I slept through plenty of the day in exchange, no worries. Besides, it was worth it, don't you think?"

Darrell pursed his lips. He'd like to say no, since that was the responsible answer, but another glance around possibly the most beautiful room he'd ever seen and he found himself literally unable to.

"I guess." He managed after a moment.

Roman raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. "What's this? Darrell agreeing with me? No argument or witty reply? I think I've broken you."

"Ro, you don't have what it takes to break me." Darrell responded. "The year long book reading binge I am about to go on might, however."

"You're really into books, aren't you? I mean, you were reading enough to me _from memory_ while pretending I was dying, but this is a bigger reaction than even I suspected."

"I only have them memorized because my town had all of ten books." Darrell said, moving to one of the bookshelves to run his fingers along the strong, pretty spines. "I've been looking for new material for years."

"Well I suppose you've found it." Roman said, before adding, "So, uh, you like it?"

"Like it?" Darrell repeated incredulously, turning back to face the Prince. "I love it!"

Roman broke out in another grin. "What can I say? I am the best gift giver."

"Oh, are you?" Darrell asked with a matching smile.

"Well, I'm the best at everything, so I'd have to be the best gift giver."

"Are you the best book picker, too?" Darrell asked, sweeping his arms out around the room. "I don't exactly know where to start."

"I've never been that much into books." Roman said with a shrug. "But I'm sure I can fake it, just for you."

"I'm flattered, I'm sure."

"As you should be." Roman responded with a wink.

"So, which book?"

Roman turned around, surveying the room, before he pointed in one corner. "Come, there's a very red book over there. I'm sure that's a good sign."

"Do you even know what the book is?"

"Nope!" Roman said cheerily. "But I do know that red, as my favorite colour, can only signal good things!"

"Alright then." Darrell said, amused. "Let's check out the red book of good fortune."

Roman regally ushered Darrell over to the corner.

From the doorway, the objects smiled in unison at the sight of Roman pulling out the book and waving his hands as he quickly made up a summary of it from the title.

"This won't be hard at all." Remy commented.

"It really won't." Virgil agreed. "Especially now that we actually know what to do for the huge romantic gesture."

"We'll have to give it a bit of time, first." Emile said with a smile. "But by the time this place is clean, I think we'll be ready."

"We'll have to be." Virgil said, grimly. "We don't have much time."

"Oh, don't be such a downer, Virge!" Remy said, turning from the library to face the purple teapot. "Just think about how soon we'll be human again!"

"Oh, to be human again." Thomas said with a smile. "Maybe then I won't just be stuck with mother-hen Virgil."

"You know you're never free of me."

"Yeah, but I'll be able to run again."

 _"Ah, yes, human again."_ Remy repeated, sing-song. The rest of the group rolled their eyes, but didn't stop him as he wandered further from the library door and went on,

_"I'll be cooking again,_

_Be good-looking again,"_

"Like you aren't currently." Emile interjected, earning himself a wink and a kiss from Remy.

_"With a single monsieur in my arms,_

_When I'm human again,_

_Only human again,_

_Poised, no longer polished, and gleaming with charm."_

_"I'd be courting again,_

_Chic and sporting again,_

_But I've already a man with my heart."_

Thomas chipped in, _"I'd hop down from the shelf,"_

 _"Like I'd let you be by yourself."_ Virgil reprimanded.

Thomas rolled his eyes, _"I can't wait to be human again!"_

The group started down the hallway as they all continued,

_"When we're human again,_

_Only human again,_

_When we're knickknacks and whatnots no more!"_

_"Little push, little shove,_

_I mean, they're already in love!"_ Thomas added with a smirk.

_"When I'm human again,_

_Only human again_

_When my body's not quite as tense,_

_I'll 'unwind' for a change,"_ Emile winked at his puns.

 _"Oh, won't that be strange?"_ Remy offered.

_"In a shack by the sea,_

_I'll sit back sipping tea,_

_Let our early retirement commence,_

_No more man made of wax,_

_Simply a husband with which to relax."_

_"Oh, when we're human again!_

_So sweep the dust from the floor!_

_Let some light into the room!_

_Can't you feel, can't you tell?_

_He'll break that blasted spell,_

_Any day now!_

_Shine the brass on the door!_

_Alert the dragon and broom!_

_Our time's clearly at hand,_

_Their love is so grand,_

_It'll be any day now!_

_Sweep up the years,_

_Of mockery and leers,_

_And throw them away!_

_We'll be human again,_

_Only human again,_

_When that boy finally sets us all free,_

_Cheeks that can flush once again,_

_'Suppose we're assuming again,_

_That our savior shall surely be he!_

_We'll be dancing again,_

_We'll be twirling again,_

_Part of the happenings as they occur,_

_Like proper monsieurs,_

_We'll be all that we were,_

_On that glorious day when we're finally reborn,_

_And we're all once more human again!"_

Roman and Darrell glanced up from where they were flipping through the red book (which had revealed itself to be a book of fairytales) at the muffled sound of yells from down the hall.

"Do you think everything's alright over there?" Darrell asked, holding the page half-flipped.

Roman shrugged. "Probably. If they have a problem, they know how to fix it."

"And if they fix it wrong?"

"Fix it wrong?"

Darrell smirked. "I could see Remy attempting to fix something with fire."

Roman smiled. "Me too. But I'll give them the benefit of the doubt."

They went back to reading their book.

~~

Father sipped a little more soup out of his bowl. He had been in bed all day, shivering and trying to live off the single bowl of soup he had managed to make before giving up the fight of trying to move.

It had gotten cold and sludgy, but he didn't believe he had the strength to make it to the kitchen for another bowl.

He sneezed. Again.

There wasn't anyone there that time to say, "Bless you."


	9. Tale as Old as Time?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gays dance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Mentions of running away from home, sickness  
> Tell me if I missed anything!

"This is stupid." Roman said for perhaps the millionth time.

"And so are you." Remy replied for the millionth time.

Roman glared harder. He hadn't dropped his glare since the beginning of this 'pampering.' "It'll never work."

"Not if we don't try, no." Emile agreed.

"It won't work even if we try."

"Well it's not like we've got anything better to do." Virgil said. "The rose has, what, one petal? Two? Maybe this is crazy, but not trying is even crazier."

Roman frowned. "Just because you have a point doesn't mean I like it."

"Ah, don't worry Beasty." Remy said, waving over the multiuse coat hanger. "We'll make you look pretty and you can ignore the low chances of this plan working."

"Even though it has insanely high chances of working." Thomas commented. "Don't think we've missed the way you two look at each other."

"Or share dinner together." Virgil added.

"Or read together." Emile said.

"Or hug each other." Remy finished with a grin.

"That was  _ once. _ " Roman protested.

"Still counts." Remy said while the coat hanger started working on the Beast's head hair. "And technically I think it was twice."

"You guys are just mean sometimes, did you know that?" Roman complained. "And I'm not sure I trust this coat hanger with my hair."

The coat hanger briefly stopped working to cross its arms and look annoyed.

Remy just rolled his eyes. "The coat hanger's just untangling it. There's not that much else to do with it. Chill out Roman. I know you're worried, but there's no need to take it out on the coat hanger just trying to help."

The coat hanger, feeling validated, went back to combing.

"So, is anyone torturing Darrell with all this, or...?" Roman asked after a moment of sitting and just mentally criticizing his appearance. Aside from the average complainants of 'I'm a literal Beast' and 'I used to be pretty,' he could now add 'I look sad when my fur is wet' and 'this coat hanger has no eyes how can it properly do my hair.'

"Dragon Witch is in there to make sure he doesn't try to run away." Virgil answered with a glance in the direction of the other changing room. "But for the most part, no."

"What do you mean, 'no?'" Roman demanded.

"I mean yes, of course." Virgil said with a roll of his eyes.

"Or he means that we trust Darrell more to get himself cleaned up and prepped for the evening than you." Remy added.

"That seems unfair." Roman grumbled.

"The last time we tried to get you to bathe was three years ago." Emile pointed out. "It was followed by you hiding on the roof for a week."

"I remember that." Roman mumbled. "It was cold up there."

"Then you shouldn't have hidden up there."

"It was the only place you guys couldn't follow."

Remy smirked. "So what does it say that you're sitting through not only a bath, but also getting your hair done and putting on something other than a weird dress and curtains now? What's the changed element here?"

"I'm more tired." Roman replied.

"Orrrrrrrrrrrr you like Darrell and want to look nice for your dance." Remy cooed.

"Believe whatever makes you happy." Roman said as the coat hanger pulled away.

"The truth makes me happy." Remy joked before turning towards the closet across the room which was rumored by Remy to hold Roman's new outfit. "And now, the outfit!"

The wardrobe doors opened on command, revealing a large custom Beast-sized outfit. A white shirt and scarf went with a pair of dark scarlet pants with gold stripes down the sides and a matching red suit jacket with properly added gold embellishments.

Roman's jaw practically dropped. "You've been able to create something like this for how long?"

"Basically since we stopped being human." Thomas answered.

"You've been holding out on me!?"

"You never asked." Remy replied. "Plus, seeing you run around in a curtain and try to sew gold buttons on to it was amusing."

"How many things do you guys let me do simply for the sake of your own personal amusement?"

"Out of fear you will discover the things and stop doing them, I'm not going to answer." Remy said with a wink. "Now, let's get the suit on you, and get you out to your lovely future husband!"

Ten minutes and somehow no tears later, and Roman was being shoved out onto the landing before the staircase, awkwardly waiting for Darrell to come out from his end and meet him for the descent to the freshly cleaned ballroom.

Messing with his fingers and trying not to rake them through his newly brushed hair, Roman took a second to glance back at the dressing room door. The objects were sticking their heads out of it, waving him on.

At the sound of a door creaking, the objects disappeared back inside the dressing room. Roman jerked his head forwards.

The Dragon Witch darted out of the opening door first, swirling around Roman before disappearing down another hallway. Roman was somehow left with the impression they had both warned him to treat him well and also good luck.

Roman would have ruminated longer on it, but Darrell slipped out next, and Roman's thoughts were suddenly completely preoccupied with taking that sight in instead.

He was wearing a lovely yellow dress, sparkling from the actual gold layered on it, with lazy short sleeves that just barely hung off his shoulders. The slim-fitting bodice smoothly transitioned into a looser skirt that flowed around his legs. As he approached, Roman noticed Darrell's shoes were matching flats; comfortable to dance in, and stylish.

As they both reached the staircase, and Roman extended his arm for Darrell to take, he found he had nothing to say. It wasn't until a minute later, when they had just begun to dance, that he managed to find some words.

"You're wearing a dress." He stated, no judgement in his tone, only wonder.

Darrell shrugged as much as he could in the middle of the twirl the dance had just taken. "I come from a small village, Ro. I've never worn a dress nor a suit. I just told Remy he could put me in anything so long as it was decent." He cocked an eyebrow. "Why? Don't like it?"

"No!" Roman corrected immediately, perhaps a touch too vibrantly from Darrell's slight flinch at the sound. "It-it looks great. You look great."

Darrell's eyes softened slightly and he let out a quick breathy laugh. "Geez, Roman, if I knew it was this easy to get your attention, I would have shown up to the castle in a dress."

"It isn't that easy." Roman teased back. "Is it too cheesy to say you're special?"

Darrell blushed. "Yeah, it is."

Their conversation lapsed into silence. As they dipped into another spin, both of them realized at some point the musical instruments lining the walls of the ballroom had begun to play, the lilting melody matching the rhythm of their dance.

"You're a good dancer." Darrell said after a few more minutes of the near-silence.

Roman fought the urge to shrug. They were in the middle of an actual dip. He didn't need to jerk Darrell around.

"I was a Prince before I became a Beast you know." Roman joked. "My education did cover dancing."

"All my lessons came from Father, and even then it's been forever." Darrell responded. "I'm surprised I haven't stepped on your toes yet."

"Helps I don't have any."

The music picked up a notch, and Roman spun Darrell once more, knowing how close they were to the end. One more spin, another few steps, and the final dip.

Except Roman, more focused on Darrell's face, and the tiny gilded lines that were running across the left side of his face, mixing in with the burns, missed a step and started the dip early, bringing his face and Darrell's much closer than they were meant to be.

The music behind them died away.

"Careful, Ro," Darrell said, barely a whisper, as if he expected any louder words to shatter the moment, "someone might get the wrong impression."

"Remind me," Roman matched in the same tone, "which impression's the wrong one?"

Roman wondered if they could have stayed there forever. The moment certainly felt timeless. Not a sound in the room, not a movement to take their attention away from each other, just the both of them stuck trying to figure out who had the guts to make the first move.

But Roman's arms, as strong as they were, gave out first, and he was forced to lean back and straighten the two of them out again. The moment broke like a dropped glass, Darrell ducking his head as he accepted Roman's once more offered arm and heading onto the terrace.

He let go once they were to the railing, choosing to lean on the railing instead. Roman joined him with a glance to the side- the table with the rose and the mirror had been moved down here, a reminder of what was at stake. Roman tried not to let the two petals left on the stem bum him too much as he turned to look at the view with Darrell.

"The view's lovely tonight." Roman commented idly.

Darrell nodded. "It looks just like it does back in the village."

Roman fidgeted for a moment before saying, "If you don't mind me asking, what's up with you and your village? It's just... you always refer to home in the past tense, and outside of that, you haven't said a word about it."

"Should I have?" Darrell asked quietly.

"Not really, I suppose, but you've technically been a prisoner here for a couple of weeks. I'd expect you to pine uselessly about home at least a few times."

Darrell leaned a little heavier on the railing. "I, uh... I wasn't out in the woods that night for a business trip."

Roman remained silent, waiting for him to continue.

"I... I was running away from home." Darrell said.

"I see." Roman said respectfully.

"It, well, I- I couldn't deal with all the pity from everyone." Darrell said after stuttering. "So I left."

"I get that." Roman said slowly. He didn't know much, but even Roman recognized new scars. It wasn't the biggest jump in logic to figure out why he was getting so much pity.

And Roman also got pity. He had had his fair share of it. If he thought he could actually get out of the grounds, Roman would have run away from it too.

"I thought you might." Darrell said.

Roman nodded. "Do you miss any of them?"

"A little." Darrell answered, looking at the stars. "Mostly my Father. He's already lost so much... it felt cruel to leave him alone, but I... I really couldn't stay."

Roman looked away from Darrell, towards the table holding the rose and the mirror.

"Would you," He hesitated a second before continuing, "Would you like to see him?"

Darrell turned from the stars to face Roman. "I suppose. Why do you ask?"

Roman stepped over to the table, scooping up the mirror as he responded, "The Enchanter who caused... well, caused all of this, left me with a sort of gift before he vanished. If you can call it a gift. It's mostly a mockery."

"A mirror?" Darrell asked, seeing the Prince pick it up.

"It can show you anything you ask it to." Roman responded, offering it to Darrell. "A way to let me see a world I could no longer be a part of."

Darrell looked in the mirror. It seemed normal enough.

"Just ask it to show you your Father." Roman instructed, not missing the fact that, for once, Logan wasn't waiting in the corner to taunt him.

Darrell raised an eyebrow, clearly suspicious, but he still said, "Uh, show me my Father."

A green light swirled around the mirror, blurring the reflection, until the light faded out to show Darrell's house. The scene was in his Father's bedroom, his Father curled up on his bed.

He looked awful. His skin was pale, he was shaking even under the cocoon of blankets he was wrapped in, and his eyes were bloodshot.

And there was no one around.

Darrell let out a choked sound instantly, something akin to a sob. "Father?" He said, uselessly, knowing he wouldn't hear him. The only response Darrell could pretend to have gotten was his Father's sneezing, followed by a fit of coughs.

"He's so sick." Darrell whispered, a lump already forming in his throat. How did this happen?

"Why is there no one taking care of him?" Roman asked, sounding just as worried as Darrell felt.

"He- he's too stubborn to ask for anyone to help him." Darrell managed to answer. "The only person he'll let take care of him is-" Darrell cut himself off.

"Who?" Roman pushed.

"Me. Only me." Darrell responded after a second.

Roman looked away. He realized the implications immediately.

"Then..." Roman took a breath and swallowed his pride. "Then you must go to him."

Darrell jerked his gaze from the mirror back to Roman. "What?"

"I, uh, I release you." Roman said, waving slightly, as if to make it official. "You're no longer my prisoner. You're free to go to him."

"Roman-"

"He needs you, Darrell." Roman said, interrupting him before he could make this any harder. "You have to go to him."

Darrell hesitated another second before he nodded.

"Th-thank you." He stammered, pushing the mirror back into Roman's hands. Roman carefully rejected it.

"Keep it." Roman said. "It'll help make sure you don't get lost on the way home."

_ And so you can look back at me, once the final petal falls and you'll never want to come back to the permanent monster that's left behind. _ Roman thought, but didn't dare say out loud.

Darrell nodded again, holding the mirror close to his chest. "Thank you." He repeated, before turning to run back out the ballroom. He stopped at the edge of the terrace however.

"You-" He stopped, seeming to reconsider, still looking away as he continued on, "You know, Roman, I don't think you're quite the Beast you've convinced yourself you are."

Roman didn't know how to respond to that. Thanks to the fact that Darrell then left for real, he didn't have to.

Roman turned back to the stars, running a paw through his hair. He didn't need to keep it nice anymore.

"I don't know if I should call you selfless or stupid." Roman glanced around, looking for the source of the familiarly mocking voice. "I mean, I already know the latter, but does the former for once apply?"

Roman spotted him in the tiny, wavering reflection made by the glass protecting the rose. He raised an eyebrow. "Not even hiding in proper mirrors anymore?"

"If it casts a reflection, I can reside in it." Logan responded. "Up until now, however, I had an actual mirror to live in, yes. Someone gave it away."

"Well it wasn't like breaking it worked." Roman countered, but for once, there was no heat in his words.

If Roman had thought the Enchanter capable of pitying him, he would have sworn his expression softened ever so microscopically.

"You let him go." Logan commented quietly, sounding neither cruel nor sorrowful.

"I did." Roman replied in the same tone.

"Why?"

Roman shrugged and turned from the reflection. "Because it was the right thing to do."

Logan didn't have to turn to know the second to last petal from the rose had just fallen. Roman was almost out of time. "You might never see him again, you know." Logan stated.

Roman nodded, still facing the landscape.

In the silence, Roman knew that even Logan had left him now. With a bitterly cold wind blowing, one he now knew he would be cursed to feel every day, he should have been angry at himself. Should have felt awful. He was doomed now, he knew it. A Beast forever.

But thinking about the alternative, keeping Darrell with him selfishly while his Father withered away at home, Roman didn't regret his choice.

Roman heard steps approaching him, but he didn't turn to face them. All he knew was it wasn't Darrell. Anyone else in the castle would only come to rage against him. Not that he blamed them. His choice, regardless of why he picked it, still guaranteed their doom as well.

"Ehm, Roman?" Great. Emile. Roman probably would have preferred the sass he would have gotten from Remy or Virgil over Emile. "Where's Darrell?"

Roman sighed. "I let him go."

"Oh." Emile responded, too mildly given the circumstances, Roman thought. "Why?"

"Because it was the right thing to do." Roman repeated.

"I see." Emile replied.

"I'm sorry." Roman said after a second of silence. "You shouldn't be stuck here when that rose dies."

"I know." Emile said simply. "But I am. And I just want to say... in case this is truly it..."

Roman turned from the view briefly. It was the least he could do, he thought, to face Emile when he finally gave up the pretense of caring for the man-monster who had trapped him here.

But Emile didn't look angry. He just looked melancholy as he finished, "It was nice knowing you."

Roman tried to keep the shock out of his eyes. "I-I," He stopped. "The pleasure was mine."

And with that, Emile nodded, and trotted back off.

Roman watched him until he was out of sight before turning back to the forever frozen view.

Out in the hallway, Remy, Virgil, and Thomas were waiting eagerly for Emile to tell them how it went.

"Well?" Remy pushed the minute his clockwork husband was back. "How's it looking?"

Emile smiled sadly at Remy and took his hand. "He let him go."

"What?!" All three objects said at once, glancing back into the ballroom, as if they expected to see something other than a forlorn Beast at the end of the terrace.

"Why?" Virgil demanded.

Emile shrugged. "He said it was the right thing to do..."

"The right thing my foot!" Remy said angrily. "We were so close! And now-"

"Now there's no time left." Virgil continued. "Darrell was it. Our last chance. And Roman just blew it!"

"I don't think he did, guys." Emile said quietly. "We can't force love. If Roman thought he had to let Darrell go... he had to."

"What, you trust him?"

"I do." Emile told his husband. "I do."

Remy deflated. "Yeah, I do too."

Thomas rattled on his teacup. "What now?"

Virgil scooted a little closer to him. "Now we finally get to find out what happens when the last petal falls." Virgil sighed.

"That's all there is left to do."


	10. Kill the Beast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darrell goes home. But due to an unseen eavesdropper, he's not there long...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Sickness, mention of brainwashing (but no actual brainwashing), mention of death, mention of fire, mention of guns, attack scene (non-graphic), suicidal allowance (as in: puts up no fight against something that will lead to death), gunshots  
> If I need to add anything, let me know!

Darrell raced through the woods as fast as he could. The snow still crunched beneath his feet, but he was lucky enough to miss all the ice patches. He was thanking his lucky stars when he realized in addition to that, the wolves had taken the hint and left him alone.

He eventually stumbled out of the snowy woods, onto the pathway that was properly in summertime, trying not to trip as the surface went from being unstable to firm. It didn't take him too long to spot the village.

He had the common sense to still avoid the actual village, coming out of the woods nearest his house and rushing back around to the front door, quickly opening it and beelining for his Father's bedroom.

His Father, looking even worse than he had the last time Darrell had checked the mirror, propped himself up in his bed, eyes widening when he realized who was intruding in his house. "Darrell?"

"Yeah; yeah, Father it's me." Darrell assured, quickly moving to gently push his Father back down. "You look like Hell."

"Feel like it too." Father replied distractedly. "Where have you been?"

"Tell me what stupid thing you did to get yourself this sick first." Darrell avoided the question as he wandered into the bathroom to get a washcloth.

"I went looking for you." Father replied, and Darrell tried to ignore the instant wave of grief he felt at those words. "Stayed up a bit too late, went out a bit too far."

"Alone?" Darrell asked as he returned to the room, placing the warmed cloth on Father's forehead.

"Patton was with me." Father answered. "He's not sick, though, don't worry."

"I'm not worried about him." Darrell replied. "You shouldn't have pushed yourself so hard."

"What was a lonely Father to do?" Father responded, and Darrell couldn't decide if he meant that as a jest or not.

Darrell didn't say anything other way. "I'm going to go make some soup." He said, sure that Father already had, but also sure it was probably just cold sludge by now.

Father snaked a hand out to grab Darrell before he could. "'El, please." He begged. "Where were you?"

"The woods." Darrell answered after a moment.

"Were you?" Father pushed. "Because me and Patton went through the entire woods. We never saw any sign of you."

Darrell knew how easy it would be to just hold firm. To repeat 'the woods,' say it was a big forest, assure him he was there and only there. But he didn't want to lie.

Besides, once his Father was up and moving again, he would definitely notice the odd glow-y mirror and want to know where it came from.

"I'm not quite sure you'll believe me." Darrell said after a moment.

"Try me." Father replied.

Darrell slowly eased himself out of his Father's grip. "I need to grab something." He explained as he quickly retreated to the dining room, where he had flung the mirror on the table. Heading back in his Father's bedroom, he didn't notice the door slightly open behind him.

Back beside his Father, Darrell showed him the mirror. Father raised an eyebrow. "How does this explain where you were?"

Darrell smiled slightly before saying, to the mirror, "Show me the castle."

The image swirled and when Darrell showed it to his Father once more, there was the Beast's castle, a swirl of snow blowing past in the background.

Father's eyes widened even more. "The mirror- a castle-" He shook his head. "What, what does this mean?"

"I found this castle." Darrell said quietly. "In a woods where it was always winter. And the objects inside, Father, they talked."

"The objects... talked?" Father repeated incredulously.

"Yep." Darrell replied. "There was a candelabra, a clock, a teapot, and teacup that followed me almost everywhere. They were cursed."

"Oh, really?" Father asked. Darrell nodded, continuing unaware of the third party listening in the doorway.

"An Enchanter thought the Prince was rude, I think. I never got the details. So he made the Prince a Beast and his staff his kingdom." Darrell frowned at the mirror. "He was trapped there."

"A Beast?" Father asked.

Darrell nodded, quietly asking the mirror to show them Roman, turning the new image back to Father. Father gasped immediately in horror, though Darrell wasn't sure how he could. The Beast was still out of the terrace Darrell had left him on, looking at the horizon but clearly not truly seeing it.

He was so sad, Darrell thought. How could Father not see that first?

"If that Beast was there, why did you stay?" Father asked, looking horrified at the thought.

"Well, I mean, technically I was his prisoner." Darrell responded casually.

"WHAT?!" Father exclaimed before dissolving into another coughing fit.

Darrell patted his back. "It's fine, Father, really. He isn't who he looks like."

"No, he just held you against your will as a joke." Darrell turned his head at the new voice from behind him. Leaning in the doorway was Patton, looking angry. Even then, he added sheepishly, "I saw you run in from the forest and wanted to make sure you were okay. I didn't mean to eavesdrop but..."

"Oh, uh, yeah. Hi, Patton." Darrell said, slowly catching up with everything that was going on. "How much have you heard?"

"Everything." Patton answered, once more looking furious. "Like how you were held captive."

"That really isn't the entire story, Patton-"

"It's the only part I need to hear." Patton said before Darrell could finish, reaching out to take the mirror. "Did you take this from him?"

"...He gave it to me." Darrell responded after a moment. "Can I have it back?"

"Gave it to you?" Patton repeated. "He imprisoned you, and then gave you a gift?"

"You're missing a lot of this." Darrell protested.

"No, I don't think I am." Patton replied, looking at the Beast. "He's a tricky one." He mumbled to himself. "What sort of brainwashing is this?"

"Brainwashing?" Darrell repeated in shock. "You can't honestly believe-"

"It explains why you're idolizing him." Patton responded.

"Idolizing him?" Darrell couldn't believe this. "I just said he wasn't what he looked like-"

"And it's all magic anyways." Patton continued, talking to himself and ignoring Darrell. "He may have said he was trapped by a curse, but who's to say he didn't trap Darrell?"

"I'm right here, and I can assure you, I'm not trapped by magic or anything!" Darrell said.

"Well you wouldn't realize it if you were, of course." Patton countered. "It'd be a pretty ineffective spell if you knew it was all fake."

Darrell wanted to growl. He had spent too much time around Roman, he guessed. But the reaction felt right.

Patton nodded at the mirror. "But it's okay. I've got this."

Darrell didn't like the look in Patton's eye when he said that. "You've got what?"

"I'll take care of the Beast." He said, and Darrell could have sworn he paled to the same shade as his sickly Father. "Maybe that'll break the spell..."

"You can't!" Darrell said instantly. "He's not done anything wrong!"

The fury in Patton's eyes softened and Darrell hated that it was for him. "Not that you realize, Darrell. But I'm going to fix this."

"There's nothing to fix!"

"You'll understand." Patton said quietly as he began to back out the bedroom door. "Once I take care of this, you'll understand."

He slipped through the door, and when Darrell went to yank it open and chase him, he found Patton had locked it. From the resistance he got when he shoved it, he put something in the way as well.

Darrell turned back to the room, wildly looking for another way out. The only other opening was the window. But just as Darrell was racing to it, he saw Patton appear, latching it from the outside.

Darrell slammed his fist on the glass, but the window barely even shuddered. Patton looked pained, but determined, as he raced towards the village.

From what little he could see as he strained against the window, Darrell realized that Patton was assembling a mob from the village, orange flames entering his vision from the edges of the town, all streaming towards the woods.

Darrell pulled away, turning to his Father, who was still sitting on the bed, looking as distraught as Darrell was.

"Father, you have to believe me-" Darrell started, but Father waved him away.

"You wouldn't be this upset if you didn't truly think he was good." Father said, glancing around, trying to help find an escape path. "You have to warn him."

"I know." Darrell said. "But how?"

Father looked around more before pointing to the ceiling. Darrell looked up. The wooden rafters had other planks of wood laid over them, unseen thatching on top of those. He looked back to his Father.

"I don't think I ever finished nailing all the planks down." Father offered with a small smile. "I needed the nails for my cabbage picking machine."

Darrell grinned. "For once, Father, your obsession with building inventions has saved us."

It was hard for Darrell to push the boards up, given the bed wasn't that tall, but with the help of his father holding the bedside table on the bed so that it wouldn't fall over, Darrell just managed it.

It took a minor leap, and using more of Darrell's upper body strength than he preferred, but soon enough Darrell was scrambling on the roof. He peered out over the forest, seeing the tops of torches already halfway to the castle.

"Take Philippe." Father called from where he was still waiting on the bed, waving Darrell on.

"Are you going to be okay?" Darrell called back. Father was still sick, after all.

"Of course!" Father assured him. "More okay than the Beast if you stick around here, anyways."

Darrell still felt a touch bad, but he understood his Father's meaning. With a final wave, Darrell slid down and off the roof. He turned towards the single stable on the side of the house, where a chestnut brown horse neighed at him.

Darrell rushed over to the horse. "Come on, Philippe." He said, skipping the saddle and mounting the horse as quickly as possible. "We've got a Prince to save."

~~

"Listen, Beasty, I understand that you've been off your game for a few years, but this is just insane." Remy complained as he entered Roman's destroyed room. He had moved up here for a more aesthetic sulking, Remy guessed.

"What do you mean?" Roman asked, though he didn't sound like he cared.

"There's a mob coming along, screaming about killing the Beast." Remy explained. "Did you insult his honor?"

Roman looked up slightly, his gaze drifting to the torches he had seen out of the corner of his eye for a bit, just hadn't acknowledged. "No." Roman replied quietly.

"Well are you going to come down and help us fight, or...?"

"Let them come." Roman responded. "It doesn't matter anymore."

Roman didn't see it, but Remy's eyes widened as much as they could, and his candles extinguished unconsciously.

"Roman..." Remy started, but was cut off by the Prince.

"Just... don't get yourselves hurt." Roman said sadly.

Remy opened his mouth, prepared to say more, but he didn't. Instead, he turned and hurried back from where he came.

"Where's Roman?" Virgil demanded as Remy came back, the cart pushed against the window to watch the approach of the mob.

"He's not coming." Remy responded. "Darrell's broken him. He's rather sit in his own self-wallowing."

Emile prodded his side and Remy sighed. "Yeah, yeah, not Darrell's fault. But we still don't have Roman on our side. I think he's almost on theirs."

"Looks like we're defending ourselves, then." Virgil said resolutely.

"Yep." Remy replied. "I'll get the furniture."

"Me and Thomas can rally the kitchen." Virgil added.

Emile nodded. "I'll call Dragon Witch. The two of us can work on preparing the exterior objects."

Remy clapped his arms. "Sounds like a plan then! Now let's go before they get here..."

~~

Patton measured up the castle. It was huge, and the dark and crumbling stone only added to the cold and gloomy atmosphere around it. The storm around them had kicked up, snow blowing about all of them and the wind tearing into every exposed bit of flesh.

But he and the mob he had assembled continued forwards. This Beast had to be taken care of. Before he hurt anyone else.

The closer they got, the eerier it seemed to get. Patton could have sworn he saw something dart away from the corner of his eye, but glancing over there revealed nothing. As they reached the front doors, Patton demounted his horse, and the other mob members who had been on their own did as well.

Patton walked up the steps slowly, gun drawn, looking for danger. He tried the door, but, upon finding it locked, motioned for the people with the battering ram to step up.

He moved to the side as they positioned themselves, slamming into the doors with a heavy _thud._

When that wasn't enough to knock them down, they went again. And again. On the fourth hit, there was shuddering noise as the doors creaked inwards.

The people on the ram threw it to the side, preparing their pitchforks and torches as they continued inside.

The inside of the castle was as grim as the exterior. No lights were on, though a light trail of smoke near the fireplace suggested it had been recently put out.

Patton carefully made his way towards the staircase, waiting for someone (or something) to attack. The rest of the mob spread out in the foyer.

One of the men, with a noise of disapproval, picked up a clock sitting on a table before the fireplace. "Well, isn't this quaint." He said, messing with the clock hands. "An old clock. Ugly thing, too."

"You did _not_ just call my husband ugly." The man jerked when the candelabra beside the clock spoke, venom dripping from his words. The man dropped the clock and the candelabra instantly yelled, "ATTACK!"

Suddenly, the lights all flared on, just in time for practically all the furniture in the room to lunge at the humans. The coat hanger beside the door started wrestling with someone. The small table in a corner pounced on top of two villagers. The suits of armor at the ends of the staircase sprung to life and started to spar with the nearest people.

The candelabra's candles had lit too, and he was busy running about and burning anyone and anything he could get near too. The clock had started moving as well, riding the table he had been on and commanding it to ram into people's shins.

Patton, seeing the chaos, recognized it instantly as a distraction. He glanced back up the stairs, looking for the most likely hiding spot for the Beast.

 _There_ he decided after a moment, spotting a hallway that still hadn't been lit up. Dodging the wardrobes and chairs that had started coming down the sides of stairs, Patton made his way towards it.

He dashed down it, not seeing the tea cart that was spurting hot water on everyone that went by just as he did, the tea pot and tea cup watching him race in with worried expressions.

~~

Darrell spurred Philippe again. He knew it wasn't fair to push the old horse so much, but what could he say? He was panicked.

Finally, the castle was coming into view. There seemed to be a storm blowing around it, which Darrell thought was odd, given back where we running in there wasn't any signs of it.

Philippe made his way across the ground surprisingly fast given it was covered in snow. Darrell realized that the mob had probably trampled it down enough to flatten it out.

Perfect. Anything that worked to his advantage, he would take.

As he got through the sprawling courtyard, he saw that the outside of the castle was a warzone. Villagers were being attacked by gargoyles throwing stones. The lion statues had come to life and were trapping people beneath their paws. Darrell could just make out a whizzing bit of red and yellow he recognized as the Dragon Witch darting around, using their dusting powers in opposite to cover the attackers in piles of soot.

Darrell quickly dismounted from Philippe, happy when the horse turned and ran back out of the fight. He'd hate to see him hurt.

As Darrell rushed through the fight, he found most of the townspeople were too preoccupied to pay him any mind as he ran through. And none of the castle tried to attack him, either.

Inside was a similar sight. People being attacked, furniture attacking back. Darrell spotted that, near the fireplace, Remy was cursing at people who got too near to Emile, who was holding his own with a shin-attacking table.

But in the whole mess of things, no where did Darrell see either Patton nor Roman.

Before he could start trying to converse with the fighters about where the hero of the town and/or the huge hairy man were, a familiar tea cart came rattling at him.

"Took you long enough to show up." Virgil said, blasting a nearby villager with a stream of burning water. "Assuming you're not the reason our castle's a wreck."

"I wouldn't do that to you all in a million years." Darrell replied, distraught.

"Told ya so." Thomas taunted, spinning in his saucer and spilling some water to douse someone of his own.

Virgil rolled his eyes. "Alright, yeah, you realized that he didn't betray us first. A+ for being so optimistic."

"I take it as a compliment." Thomas returned. 

"Guys, I love the banter, but do you have any clue where Roman is? Or Patton?" Darrell asked, breaking their conversation up.

"Last I saw him, Roman was in the West Wing." Virgil answered. "And someone ran in there once the fight broke out- me and Thomas were going to go after him, but we had our own fighters to deal with."

Darrell nodded, one hundred percent sure Patton had been the one to run down the West Wing. "I understand. I'm going after them."

"As you should!" Virgil responded.

"And be careful." Thomas added as Darrell hurried up the stairs, once more avoiding the fights. He would have taken a second to promise Thomas he would be, but he didn't have a second.

And he wasn't one hundred percent making that promise wouldn't have been a lie.

Darrell tried not to skid as he turned off of the staircase and headed down the hallway to the West Wing. All the other doors to the side were cracked open, and Darrell recognized the signs of a skilled hunter checking the field.

Darrell ran faster knowing that the fact the last door was opened meant Patton had found his prey.

Bursting in, he wished the room had been clean the last time he was in here, because then the knocked over furniture would have meant something. As it stood, Darrell weaved around the mess and made his way to the balcony. He noted that the table with the rose had been moved back to the room as well as he rushed by it.

Trying not to feel too dramatic, Darrell leaned on the balcony's railing and looked around for Patton and Roman. It took a moment before he noticed, on a strip of the roof nearby, Patton in his hunting glory, gun raised and aimed at the curled up figure of the Beast.

Darrell's grip on the railing tightened as he glanced at the rooftops, wishing he saw a way to get to them. But the rooftops were too far apart, too narrow here, and the snowstorm that seemed to come and go was currently too thick for Darrell to even see much more past Patton and Roman.

So, he did the only thing he could in the situation.

"ROMAN!" He yelled, hoping against hope he could hear him. "ROMAN!"

From his spot on the edge of the roof, trying to disappear into himself, Roman somehow heard him. He glanced up, eyes that even this far away looked awfully sad, whole expression brightening when he saw Darrell.

That was when the dual gunshots rang out.


	11. A Broken Curse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Promises are traded, and then immediately put to the test.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Blood/injury mention, character death (non-permanent), self-deprecation, running away attempt, swearing  
> If I need to add anything, just tell me!  
> Also: I apologize... I suck at writing kiss scenes

Darrell's cry of outrage and pain was lost in the sudden blast of wind and snow that was followed by the storm abating completely. Darrell was sure Roman's cry had been lost as well.

Patton, to his credit, had dropped his gun. He was still standing in front of Roman, face turned away from Darrell, but he seemed regretful.

Darrell went against his every instinct and jumped the railing, stumbling across the rooftops but eternally grateful they were somehow no longer icy. He made it over to Roman, pushing by Patton as roughly as he'd dare on the rooftops.

He wasn't going to sink to his level now, becoming a murderer.

He crouched down to look at the damage, finding that the two shots had gone through Roman's side, leaving bloody trails matting in his fur as he sucked in uneven breaths.

Darrell glanced back at Patton, who looked devastated. The prospect of Patton at least realizing he had made a mistake slightly softened the hatred he currently had burning in his heart.

"Help me get him back inside." Darrell commanded, though his voice broke enough when he said it that it sounded more like a questioning sob.

Patton still nodded, however, ducking down to slip one of Roman's arms over his shoulders while Darrell mirrored him on the other side.

Walking back to the room with a barely-conscious Roman mumbling between them was a challenge, especially on the narrow walkways, but between the two of them working hard to do so, they made it back just in time to let him slump down on the floor of the room.

"Darrell, I just- I'm so-"

Darrell waved him off. "Not, not now."

Patton nodded before hurrying off, muttering about calming down the mob. There was a quiet  _ thunk _ and Darrell subconsciously realized the mirror that had been hanging at his belt must have fallen off as he hurried away.

For the moment, however, Darrell focused on Roman, who was blinking sluggishly at him.

"You're back." He commented.

"Nah, I'm front." Darrell replied, ignoring how lame he sounded.

"Are you?" Roman asked with a pained chuckle. "Then why are you front?"

"Well, I couldn't just let you get killed." Darrell said with what he hoped was a reassuring smile, and not a pained one. "I put time into knowing you. Would've all been wasted."

"Now, now, don't call it wasted." Roman protested. "I've treasured every minute."

"I won't call it wasted if you stay out of those past tenses." Darrell responded, not liking the sound of 'treasur _ ed _ .'

"Just trying to be correct, Dar."

Darrell tried to ignore the new nickname, born at really the worst moment. "It's not correct, though. You're going to get through this, Ro. You're not allowed to die on me now. I've gone through way too much trouble to get here and stop that."

"I like to think there's a lot I'd do for you, Dar." Roman responded, voice dying as he did so. "And if I knew how to defy the inevitable, I'd do that too."

"Then learn how to." Darrell begged. "I thought you were the best at everything?"

"I think I'm about to be proven wrong." Roman said, coughing as he did so. "Can't defy death, can't do as you asked, can't even properly court my love."

Darrell's eyes stung. "Don't say that, Roman. Don't say that and then leave me."

"I have to say it before I can't." Roman said, hand barely able to move to clutch one of Darrell's.

Darrell moved his hand into Roman's to stop the slow, sad movement of Roman's to grab it himself. "Don't say can't."

Roman smirked, but it was a pale imitation of the big and bright ones he was born to wear. "Can't."

His eyes seemed to still after that and Darrell felt the stinging in his eyes spill across his cheeks. "No, no no no. You're not dying with that as your last words, some stupid comeback."

Roman didn't respond.

Darrell started running his free hand uselessly through Roman's hair, the other hand still clasped in Roman's paw. He faintly noticed that Roman was still in the suit from the dance, the scarlet material hiding the blood that showed off brightly against the gold accenting.

"Goddamnit Roman." Darrell muttered, the shaking of the final rose petal behind him left unseen by himself.

"You don't tell someone that as you die." He said, dancing around the actual words. "No time to respond, or be witty, or do anything than feel devastated."

He let out a sob and folded in on himself, his head almost touching Roman's.

"No time for me to say I love you too."

Behind him, the petal fell.

For a second, the entire castle fell into a moment of perfectly frozen time. Even as the villagers kept talking and demanding answers, as Patton desperately tried to calm them, as the objects realized this was the moment, and the noise kept sounding, it didn't really move. The storm outside was simply gone. Everything was dead despite being alive.

And then the light started swirling.

Darrell, eyes closed in a fruitless attempt to block the tears, didn't notice as a fog of galaxy colours moved and billowed around Roman's body. It wasn't until the body started lifting up that Darrell was forced to face the fact that something was happening.

He scraped at his eyes, trying to trick himself this was an illusion as Roman's body rose multiple feet into the air, fog still moving around him, rays of light spiking out at random.

Darrell took the briefest second to glance back at the rose. The stem was dead, leaned against the glass. The petal had fallen. He turned back to Roman. Was this what happened when the curse was completed, and not stopped?

There was a puff in the smoke as the light rays turned into a simple burst of three-sixty light, and Darrell looked away in fear of blinding himself. When he turned back, the light had died away, and there was left a small, slimmer figure than Roman's standing before him.

Confused, Darrell pushed himself to his feet. Meeting the man at eye level, he had to forcefully remind himself of his confusion and all that had occurred a minute ago, because  _ hot damn _ was he handsome.

He had auburn hair falling past his shoulders, and his beautiful blue eyes were set into a tanned face. Seeing Darrell's expression of wonder and awe, the man smiled brightly, as if he knew him.

Darrell shook his head. "No, wait. Roman...?" He said slowly.

The man nodded energetically. "Darrell!"

"You-You," Darrell stopped himself from saying  _ beautiful, _ "you're human."

"In the flesh, literally." Roman joked. He took Darrell's hands into his own with a smile. Darrell looked down at them, the feeling weird after two weeks of paws but not unwelcome.

That was... problematic.

"Shouldn't you be dead?" Darrell asked, focusing on that instead. "I mean... the magic curse didn't cover gunshot wounds, did it?"

"Not specifically." A voice from behind them answered. They both turned at the sound, not seeing anyone immediately.

"Uh, ghost, make yourself known." Darrell said, looking around.

There was a heavy sigh followed by, "I suppose I can do that."

The mirror on the ground glowed a bright green around the edges, like it always had, before a dark blue fog started rising from the center of it. It eventually shaped itself into a humanoid figure, actual colours flooding in next until the Enchanter appeared in all his original glory, brushing off his cosmic cloak.

"As I was saying," He continued, as if he had been there all along, "the curse didn't cover injuries, because honestly I didn't think even  _ you _ could screw up sitting in a castle that bad, but it appears I stand corrected."

"Always overestimate my stupidity." Roman answered with a smirk.

Logan raised a single eyebrow. "You're in quiet high spirits. That alone doesn't surprise me, but considering I am the reason for the last few years of your life being relatively miserable, I did not expect you to extend that good will to me."

Roman shrugged. "I'm feeling good. And, to be fair, it seems you had a point after all."

Darrell didn't know why he felt like flinching at that comment, but the thing he focused on was the fact that he didn't.

Logan inclined his head. "Indeed. May I assume you will be wanting to see your staff, now?"

"I'd love to see my friends, once more human, yes." Roman said, letting go of Darrell's hands to sling an arm over Darrell's shoulders instead. "Dar?"

"Same here." Darrell responded, trying to focus on the honesty of the statement. It would be nice to see what his new friends actually looked like.

Logan stepped out of their path, and Roman all but dragged Darrell along in his excitement. Darrell focused on not tripping over his feet as they reached the area above the main foyer, the townspeople looking surprised at the furniture they had been fighting and the humans that were there instead.

Darrell wasn't sure how he was going to spot the objects he had gotten to know until he was literally knocked over by someone squeezing him into a hug. They pulled back and kissed Darrell's cheeks, beaming at him.

"Ah, what did I say!" They exclaimed joyously. "I knew you were the one!  _ Mon bon ami, _ the one to give me back my taste buds!"

"Taste buds?" Darrell repeated. "That's what you're excited about?"

"The joys of coffee are returned to me!" They said, and Darrell suddenly realized who he was being attacked by.

"Remy?" Darrell said, now equally excited.

"Who else could be this dashing?" He teased.

Roman laughed. "I am standing right here."

Remy rolled his eyes. "You lost the right to the title of 'dashing' when you got us stuck in a cursed castle." He said annoyedly, but he still hugged Roman was well.

"Darn." Roman replied. "Here I was thinking that I could reclaim it now that we're free."

"We both know that's on the  _ dashing _ Darrell over here, not you." Remy responded with a wink at Darrell.

"You must mind my husband." Darrell turned as another man approached, fiddling with wiry glasses on his nose. "He needs to improve his vocabulary."

"Emile." Darrell said, reaching out to shake his hand. Emile had seemed the more professional of the duo. He was surprised when Emile ignored his hand and pulled him into an even tighter hug. "Hmph, good to see you."

"And you as well, Darrell." Emile said, moving onto hug Roman just as tightly. "Ah, it's so nice to have arms long enough to reach around people again."

"It's good to be people!" Remy added, moving to hug Emile and spin him around. "Couldn't do that an hour ago!"

"You can barely do it now." A scathing, yet well-meaning voice rung out as two more joined the group. The speaker was tugging at their charred cooking garb, the older man walking next to him wearing a less charred and simpler outfit that matched.

"Virgil...?" Darrell said slowly.

The young man in the charred outfit nodded. "The one and only."

Darrell glanced at the other. "But, that makes you Thomas."

"It does indeed!" Thomas said cheerily.

"You're older than Virgil."

"Yep!"

Darrell glanced at Roman, who just looked amused. "Yeah, Virgil is one of our youngest staff members. However, he is also one of the most motherly."

"Shut up, Princey." Virgil snapped.

"He just refuses to admit it."

Virgil fumed. "This is why I hated being the teapot."

Roman laughed. "I think it suited you."

"Well, I thought the Beast suited you."

"I was quite strong and Princely as that creature, was I not?"

"You are insufferable."

Darrell, seeing his chance, chuckled and patted Roman's arm. "You guys seem to have a lot to, eh, catch up on. I need to go talk with Patton about something. I'll do that while you discuss how sweet Virgil is."

"Don't do this, Darrell, I thought you were cool." Virgil said with a frown at the 'sweet.'

Roman laughed again. "Alright, Dar, have fun talking to your murderous friend. I'll find you later."

"Got it." Darrel said, already heading towards the front doors, as if he were planning to check outside.

Outside, however, he was happy to find he didn't see Patton anywhere in sight. Better if no one he knew saw him hightailing it.

But before he could search out Philippe, Darrell realized that Logan had at some point appeared at his side.

"Uh, hi Logan." He said when he realized the Enchanter had joined him but not said a word. "Can I help you?"

"No." Logan responded simply.

"Okay, then, uh, why are you walking with me?"

"Where are you heading?" Logan asked, ignoring the question entirely.

Darrell shrugged as normally as he could. "Home. I need to make sure Father's okay."

"That the only reason you're heading home?" Logan pressed.

"Yep." Darrell responded, trying his best not to sound like a liar.

Logan hummed and snapped his fingers. There was a burst of light around his staff that dissipated almost immediately. "Your Father is fine."

Darrell stopped in his tracks, glancing between Logan's mostly neutral expression and his staff. "Did you just magic him better?"

"I'm not sure that's how I would phrase it, but yes." Logan said, a spark of smugness in his eyes. "Looks like you don't have to head home now."

Darrell internally cursed. "Calling out bluffs with magic is cheating, you know."

"So you admit to your falsehood?"

"I would say no, but I doubt you'd believe me."

"You are correct in that assumption."

Darrell glanced back at the castle doors, waiting to see Roman emerge from them. "You have to be able to guess why I'm actually leaving."

"It's not hard to deduce, no." Logan agreed. "Though it is unreasonable."

"I know it sounds like that to you, considering the entire reason this place was cursed, but it really isn't." Darrell responded. "It's not the same situation."

"I'd argue it is, simply in a different light."

Darrell sighed. "Are you going to stop me from leaving?"

"I no longer have a snow storm at my command." Logan said. "Even if I did, have I stopped you yet?"

Darrell tilted his head. "What?"

"Come now, Darrell. You're brighter than this." Logan said, before adding, "I hope..."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"This domain was created to trap while cursed." Logan explained, glancing out at the now bright and flourishing courtyard. "Did it ever trap you?"

Darrell frowned, thinking back to every time he had moved throughout the Prince's land. The rough snow that seemed to sink when stepped on. Except when it was hard-packed. Or the ice that had coated every surface, despite Darrell never slipping on any.

"I am not a matchmaker." Logan continued. "But even I know true love when it wanders and pines in my realm."

"...True love isn't that rare." Darrell said, as if he could convince himself, turning away from the Enchanter. "He'll be fine."

"Will you?"

"Always have been."

"Is that why you're leaving without telling him?" Logan asked.

"It's just easier this way."

Logan glanced at Darrell, the other man still turned away from him, and frowned. "I don't think it is."

Darrell shook his head and continued onwards, as if he hadn't been stopped by Logan. "Goodbye, Enchanter."

Logan didn't respond as he watched Darrell walk off. Then he rolled his eyes.

"Gods, humans." He muttered, swishing his cloak as he stalked back into the castle to find Roman. He was still in his place at the top of the stairs, laughing with his staff. Logan quickly mounted the steps, anyone who might have been in his path immediately falling out of it without them noticing, and approached the Prince.

"I'm just saying, Rem, if you do-" Logan tapped (or perhaps more accurately, hit) Roman's back with his staff. The Prince turned around, looking annoyed and then confused when he saw who it was.

"Know that I am not often biased in these matters." Logan said stiffly, pointing his staff towards the doors. "But I did not waste years teaching you the meaning of beauty within to let your boyfriend walk out the door."

"What?!" Roman demanded, looking towards the doors as well.

"Go be a Prince or so help me I'll make you a Beast again." Logan commanded. Roman sprinted away immediately, though he didn't seem to need the threat to motivate him.

The rest of the staff group eyeballed Logan.

"Well, you're just a regular bleeding heart, aren't you?" Remy teased after a moment, earning him a light punch from Emile.

"You're just going to go and taunt the Enchanter who turned you into a set of candles, are you?"

"I don't care if he's the king, I'm going to taunt him." Remy returned. "Especially for that move."

Logan sighed. "Would you have preferred it if I simply allowed Darrell to walk off?"

"Nope." Virgil answered. "That'd make Roman grumpy again. But we're still going to make fun of you for it."

"It's the group dynamic." Thomas explained with a shrug.

Logan blinked. "I'll never understand people."

"I wouldn't try to." Virgil said. "We're complicated."

Logan looked back at the doors. "You can say that again."

Past the doors, Darrell had reached the edge of the courtyard, finding Philippe munching on some of the suddenly and perfectly blooming flowers. He gently grabbed his head, trying to decide how to climb back on. He regretted not grabbing a saddle.

He was just about to lead Philippe next to a bench and use it to step up and onto the horse when he heard the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps. When he saw it was Roman- beautiful, gleaming, human Roman- he glanced back at the woods, wondering if he could just run back to the village and collect Philippe later.

Then he'd actually be able to escape before Roman was close enough to speak to him.

But even that moment of contemplation had been enough time for Roman to reach him. He bent over, wheezing, but still manage to get out, "Darrell? What are you doing?"

"Uh... getting my horse." Darrell responded. "I was going to bring it back to the castle stables."

Roman looked up at him to raise an eyebrow. "Oh, really?"

Darrell tried to keep a straight face as he nodded. "Really."

Roman stood back up, having mostly caught his breath, to look Darrell directly in the eyes as he said, "I'm sure that's why Logan told me you were walking out the door."

"Snitch." Darrell mumbled under his breath.

Roman crossed his arms and took a few steps closer to Darrell. "Why are you leaving?"

Darrell took a step back. "Like you can't guess."

Hurt flashed through Roman's eyes at that, and Darrell regretted the words immediately. "I can't, Dar, I really can't."

Darrell bit his lip. This is exactly what he had wanted to avoid. "Look at yourself, Ro. You're... you're beautiful, truly. And a Prince."

Roman looked confused. "Yes. I am, I suppose. Darrell, what is this-"

"So you deserve the best." Darrell blurted out. He cringed at himself before continuing. "Honestly, you do. You're nice, Roman, once people get past your, ehm, 'winning' personality."

Roman shook his head. "Whatever you're trying to say, just say it."

Darrell crossed his own arms and looked away from Roman. "I'm just saying you deserve a husband as... as beautiful as you are, Ro. And I'm not that husband."

Silence fell between the two of them. Darrell wished he knew what Roman's expression was, his reaction, but upon thinking about what it was likely to be- realization that Darrell was right, why was he chasing him?- he realized he preferred not seeing it.

"Darrell..." Roman started, his tone a mix of emotions that Darrell couldn't place, all of it sounding strained. "Do you really think that?"

"What else would I think?" Darrell asked bitterly. "I know that since the incident I'm not the handsome man I used to be. The townspeople were clear about that. You shouldn't be stuck marrying me just because I accidentally broke some curse. That's why I was leaving. You... you don't owe me anything, especially a marriage, just because of what happened. If I left and you couldn't find me... you wouldn't have to feel guilty. You could just chose to move on. Everyone would have understood."

More silence. This was getting even more uncomfortable. Darrell shifted in place, before turning the littlest he could to take Philippe's mane. "Um... you can just tell the others you didn't catch me in time... I'm going to head home..."

"Who the fuck let you think you're not beautiful?"

Darrell startled, turning around with eyes he was sure were wider than saucers. Roman was looking angrier than he had ever as the Beast.

"Pardon?" Darrell managed to get out.

Roman waved his hands at Darrell, still standing a few steps from him. "Telling me to look at myself, have you seen  _ yourself? _ Darrell, you're absolutely  _ stunning. _ Regardless of whatever those fuckers in the village think, you're gorgeous!"

Darrell didn't respond outside of blinking uncomprehendingly.

"And if we're going to bring personality into it, well, you can call me nice if you feel like calling the kettle black. You fucking nursed me back to health while I held you prisoner and insulted you!"

"Roman-"

Roman shook his head and effectively shut Darrell back up as he also stormed the few steps between the to be right in front of Darrell. He grabbed Darrell's face, surprisingly softly given his anger, forcing him to make eye contact.

"And, fuck it Darrell, I love you." Roman said, voice still passionate, but not as loud. "There's not a single man in the universe I'd prefer to be my husband."

Darrell slowly moved his own hands over Roman's. "You haven't really looked." He tried, weakly, doubting that at the moment even the Enchanter could change Roman's mind.

"I don't need too." Roman responded. "Can I kiss you?"

"Yes." Darrell replied, not sure he could have said no if he wanted to. Not sure he couldn't have wanted to kiss the angel of a man before him.

Despite the ardor that still burned in Roman's eyes, the kiss wasn't anything like it. It was still as fiery and intense as the Prince, but also sweet. It was a subtle confidence that was somehow  _ so _ Roman despite Roman being as subtle as a forest fire, it was unspoken promises of forever, it was as beautiful as Roman seemed to think Darrell was and as perfect as Darrell knew Roman was.

They pulled back after a moment, regarding each other.

"You know, I'm not much of a trophy husband." Darrell said, adding before Roman could protest, "Not next to such a shining beauty as yourself."

" _ Ma lumière brillante, _ I doubt there is any who could outshine you." Roman responded with a soft smile. "Myself included."

"I forgot to include the fact that I am about as useful as a rock."

"But you are as pretty as a diamond, so that has to count for something, right?" Roman countered, stroking his thumbs along the sides of Darrell's face where he still held it. The action was soothing and, more importantly to Darrell, Roman's fingers barely stopped as they ran over the burnt and rough skin on the left side of his face.

Roman really, truly didn't care about the burns. Even when he looked at Darrell, he was staring into his eye, like it held galaxies in it.

"The only thing that counts now is that I'm never going to let you get trapped in castles via stupid curses you brought upon yourself." Darrell answered playfully.

"Oh, really?" Roman responded in the same tone, raising an eyebrow. "How are you going to stop me from acting upon what I've been told is my main character trait- stupidity?"

"Well, Roman Some-Middle-Name Some-Last-Name, I'm going to marry you." Darrell said. "The incentive here is you'll always have true love around to break those pesky curses."

"That's barely an incentive compared to everything else that comes with marrying you." Roman said with a smile.

"You're right. You'll also get my annoying wit, constantly. I can also contribute a full brain, something I know you don't possess."

"How you scathe me." Roman said, trying to sound shocked. The effect was ruined by the fact he was still gazing into Darrell's eye. Not that Darrell was complaining.

"Get used to it, Ro." Darrell responded. "Unless you've come out here to compliment me and then not marry me."

" _ Mon cher, _ the only reason I'm not the one who proposed is because your absolutely lovely existence caught me off guard. It would be the greatest honor I have ever had the chance of having to call you my husband."

There was the sound of leaves rustling behind them, but both of them ignored it as Darrell leaned closer to Roman, as close as he could get without falling into another kiss, to say, "Then call me that."

Roman grinned. "What, husband?"

"Mmhmm." Darrell hummed.

Roman kissed Darrell again. "Husband." He said once his lips were free again.

"Oh, whoops." Darrell pulled further away from Roman. "Are you calling me husband before we're even married? That's scandalous behavior."

"You prompted it."

"No one will believe you."

"Maybe I'm okay with being scandalous, then."

"Darrell?"

Darrell turned from Roman to see his Father standing behind them, looking both confused and bemused.

"Father, I can explain." Darrell said. "It's just a touch of a long story."

"I'm just surprised you've moved on from Dreamy Face." Father teased. "I mean, I know he betrayed us, but to have moved on so quickly, with this stranger-"

"Now, now, I'm no stranger." Roman protested with a grin. "Has your son told you nothing of me?"

Father tilted his head. "Darrell normally tells me about the cute boys. I don't think you've come up yet."

"That's because a few minutes ago he was a Beast, not a boy." Darrell explained. "Speaking of a few minutes ago, you were locked in a room."

Father waved the second half of the sentence off. "The door magically unlocked at the same time I magically got better.  _ This _ is Roman?"

"Yes." Darrell answered. "And before you chew him out for the whole imprisonment thing-"

"Yeah, yeah, he probably shouldn't have done it." Father acknowledged. "But he's pretty and apparently you're marrying him. All my requirements for son-in-law have been met."

"...Those are your only requirements?" Darrell questioned.

"Well, he also has to be nice to you, duh, but I doubt you'd be teasing him about calling you 'husband' if he was awful."

"You never know, Darrell's Father." Roman said slyly. "I'm pretty awful in a certain light."

"He means he's awfully stupid." Darrell said when Father looked worried. "But that's okay, because I'm mostly not stupid."

"I see." Father said with a smile. "Guess beauty and no brains is going to run in your family."

"Father, I am  _ insulted. _ " Darrell said, mock hurt.

"I just try to speak the truth."

Darrell rolled his eyes. "A cruel truth, then."

Father just smiled wider. "So, do I get to meet the object friends?"

"They're not objects anymore, you know."

"Don't care." Father responded. "I'm going to see if I can guess who was who."

Darrell pointed back towards the castle. "Their names are Virgil, Thomas, Remy, and Emile. Don't tell them I sent you, unless they like you, in which case I forced you to meet them."

"Tell them you sent me if they hate me, and never mention your name otherwise." Father confirmed with a serious nod. "Got it."

Darrell shook his head as his Father headed towards the castle. "By the time we reach the castle, everyone will know we're technically engaged."

"To be fair, I'd assume most of the castle would already know." Roman pointed out. "You did break the spell."

"Yeah, what were the exacts of the curse anyways?" Darrell asked distractedly, leaning against Roman's arm as they slowly made their way back towards the castle.

"Uh, some true love jabber." Roman said. "I'm sure you guessed that, though."

"Yeah, mostly."

"But you missed the second condition- the one to break the spell must be the most marvelous, dazzling, handsome creature in all the realms-"

"I think you're exaggerating it."

"Just because the curse didn't mention it, doesn't make it less true."

"Would you mind, like, leaving me alone for five seconds?" Darrell asked, though there was an inflection in his voice that made it painfully clear he didn't mind it.

Roman's grip tightened on Darrell's arm. "If I have any say it in, I won't be leaving you alone for a few  _ years. _ "

"Is this because I tried to run away?"

"Yes."

"Will it help if I promise not to do it again?"

"Only if I know I can trust you." Roman said, peering at Darrell before smiling again. "I've deemed you trustworthy."

"Amazing." Darrell said.

"Although briefly on the topic of  _ why _ you dared try to abandon me..." Roman said, sounding serious.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm beautiful-"

"You are." Roman said, before continuing on, "But, well, I get not seeing the beauty in things, even if others do. I think your scars are just as lovely as the rest of you, but if you don't, I mean, I'm a Prince again. Without the extra title of Beast. I could have a mask made up for you, whether ornamental or realistic."

Darrell looked at Roman. "You'd do that for me?"

Roman shrugged. "It's not that much effort, but, yes. I think I already told you I'd do anything for you."

A moment of silence.

"So... what do you say?" Roman asked once they could see the castle steps again.

"...I think I'll need one..."


	12. Beauty and Beauty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wedding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Mention of facial scarring  
> Tell me if I need to add anything!  
> Note: I like how I wrote this ending, except for the ending itself. Go figures.

Darrell wore his new mask for the first time on his wedding day.

His dress from the first dance he had had with Roman had been remade, seeing as the last one got relatively wrecked, this one in all white aside from the gold accents that remained. The mask, made of delicately spun and twisted gold, covered the left side of his face just enough so you couldn't tell if the skin underneath was scarred or not.

When the vicar had declared them husband and husband, Roman had removed the mask to kiss Darrell. While he did that, he deftly threw it behind him, the prize of whoever could catch it.

"Are you sure about this?" Roman had asked when Darrell told him why he wanted the mask.

"If you think I'm beautiful, Ro, that's all that matters." Darrell had replied, toying with the mask in his hands. "Besides, who's going to pity the husband of a prince, scarred or no?"

Roman had smiled gently and kissed Darrell. "Everyone shall pity only themselves for having lost a catch such as yourself."

Darrell smiled back. "And who does that make you, then?"

"The luckiest man in the world."

He had whispered it again as they walked back down the aisle. "Now I'm the luckiest  _ husband _ in the world."

"Really wanted to say that, didn't you?"

"Ever since you dared to taunt me with it, yes." Roman responded, before adding, "If we're being honest, probably wanted to call you that since I showed you the library."

"Then why didn't you say so sooner?" Darrell teased.

"I was a Beast."

"A Beautiful Beast, remember? Pretty horns."

By the time they actually got to the after-wedding ceremony, all Roman and Darrell were doing was trading poorly-veiled compliments and harmless insults. Darrell's Father chuckled and rolled his eyes as they started the dancing, Darrell mischievously warning that Roman now had toes to be wary of before purposefully (but lightly) stepping on them.

"Look at those lovebirds." He commented with a smile. Virgil, standing beside him, rolled his eyes.

"Disgusting."

Thomas rolled his own eyes. "Don't be cranky because you're lonely. You know they're beautiful together."

"Well I can't let them know that, now can I?" Virgil snapped, though he was smiling. "They're already on to me after I didn't ruin making their wedding cake."

"It's a good wedding cake." Father commented, glancing over at the cake currently sat in the corner, waiting for the song to be over. It was half messy and destroyed in a purposeful way, and half pristinely perfect. "Especially for someone whose been a tea cup for so long."

"I was the teapot." Virgil corrected.

"I thought the teapot was the older one...?"

"I assure you, between me and Thomas, I am, mentally, the older one." Virgil said with a half-hearted glare at Thomas. "Considering I wasn't at risk of shattering myself every five seconds."

"What's the point of having a mom friend if I don't constantly test them?" Thomas asked with a grin.

"I'm not the mom friend."

"Suuuuuuuuuure you aren't."

"Oh, are we talking about Mom?" Remy interrupted, slipping in between Thomas and Virgil to sling his arms around both their shoulders. "I mean, are we talking about Virgil?"

"You're not helping."

"Good! I'm not trying to." Remy returned with a bright smile.

Thomas laughed. "Where's Emile?"

"Coming." Thomas glanced back to find Emile quickly walking up to them. "Because unlike  _ some _ people, I walk at respectful speeds and don't  _ bound _ towards people."

"I could sense an opportunity to tease someone, Em, I had to."

"You're just too energetic now that you can have coffee again."

Remy took a sip from the cup Virgil now realized was in his hand, briefly lifting his arm from Virgil's shoulders. "Only a tiny bit."

Virgil slipped away before he could be trapped under overly-excited Remy's arm again. "To be fair, Emile, it's not like he doesn't usually act like this."

"Yes, but with every sip he takes, it only increases how 'Remy' he is."

Remy turned to face Emile and pouted. "I thought you married me for my 'Remy.'"

"I married you for the cows your parents had."

"Marrying me for financial benefit alone?" Remy pulled his other arm from Thomas's shoulders to come up to Emile. "No love whatsoever?"

"Nope." Emile replied, but there was a glimmer in his eyes that heavily suggested otherwise. "It was always for the cows."

Remy sighed and looked away from Emile, pressing a hand to his forehead dramatically. "My entire marriage- a sham- a shame, a shame- guess I'll have to drown my sorrows in coffee- my husband may find it annoying, but he married me for  _ cows _ so what do I care-"

Emile tutted. "Such a drama queen."

"I should hope so." Remy replied with another sip of his coffee. "Otherwise all my years of being annoyingly hard to live with would have been a pain and a bother instead of amusing."

"They were an amusing bother."

"I see what you did there."

Virgil looked away from the couple. "That's exactly what Roman and Darrell are going to be in a few months- awfully domestic."

"You underestimate them." Thomas said with a grin. "I give them a few days, maybe a week."

"I'd be surprised if they aren't already domestic." Father said. "They're already stupidly sappy."

"You can say that again." Virgil commented with a chuckle. While the group laughed (and behind them, Remy and Emile started mock-fighting about how much a cow is worth in humans), Logan, on the other side of the room, quietly stood against one of the walls.

His universe cloak had been turned in, the stars still sparkling within, but looking simply black from the exterior. Even the midnight makeup he normally wore was dulled. He didn't want to take away from the happy couple. Not that he'd admit to that.

A woman in a dress that seemed to be made of subdued fire wandered by him, inclining her head at him as she passed. Logan returned the motion.

"Friend of yours?" Logan would have startled if he hadn't already sensed the presence of the hunter join him.

"My sister, Valerie, actually." Logan answered as she disappeared literally disappeared into the crowd. "She watched over the castle for me while it was cursed."

"Couldn't you have just done that?" Patton asked.

"I stuck to reflections." Logan responded. "It would have seemed... insensitive to simply come and go as I pleased. And once Roman left his only true mirror locked in his dreary, destroyed room, I had to do something to keep an eye on him."

Patton smiled. "That was sweet of you to do."

Logan raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"Well, think of all the trouble he could have gotten into. I'm sure he did get into some of it, actually, but you made sure he wouldn't get too destroyed over it!" Patton said cheerily before frowning and adding, more seriously, "Which is why I wanted to talk to you."

"Hm?"

"I wanted to thank you." Patton said sincerely. "Talking with Darrell and Roman- who have been too sweet, really, all things considered- they seemed to think there was nothing in the curse about a magical restore."

"There wasn't." Logan responded neutrally.

"Which is why I want to thank you." Patton explained. "I realized pretty quickly after I shot Roman it was a mistake- something just felt  _ wrong _ and Darrell looked so honestly devastated- and I'm not sure I could have forgiven myself if he died for some rather hasty thinking on my part. Not that it really matters how I felt, but still."

"You are assuming I had a hand in the restoration, and that it was simply not an included part of the rose's magic." Logan stated. He didn't necessarily need to add on the fact that this assumption was correct.

"'Suppose I am." Patton answered with a grin. "And on that assumption, thank you. Really. Seeing them now... it would have been a shame if Roman had died out there."

"I do not wish to take credit for anything I didn't do."

"Uh huh." Patton hummed, clearly certain in his assumption. "Just, again, thanks." And before he hurried off, Patton briefly took a second to peck a kiss on Logan's cheek.

Logan stared bewilderedly after the hunter as he then quickly hurried off. While he did, he felt the weight of his sister, back in dragon form, settling on his shoulder.

He glanced at her before scowling. "Do keep your thoughts to yourself."

Valerie raised an eyebrow and flicked out her tongue.

"I'm not going to interact with you if you insist on being childish."

Another flick of the tongue.

"Oh, so now I'm the immature one? You are one to talk." Logan berated lightly as he turned and started heading for the nearest door. In this case, it was set in a wall, past where humans could see. Walking through it, he spared a final glance back at the happy couple, taking center for the final dance.

He paused in the doorway unseen, hand resting on the wall that bordered it, watching as they twirled around each other, looking as if the other had set the stars in the sky only for them. Even as Darrell kept 'accidentally' stepping on Roman's toes and he in turn kept 'accidentally' ducking to hard and forcing the two into another kiss, the boundless love in their eyes never faltered.

Logan allowed a small, rare smile to slip onto his face as the lyrics of the song they were currently in the thrall of dancing to actually registered to him.

_ "...Beauty and the Beast..." _

It almost would have been fitting, he thought, given the state Roman had been in when Darrell found him. But given the circumstances, Darrell probably would have argued it was Beast and the Beast.

But from how they looked at each other now, as if the other could be a monster or made of stone for all they cared, Logan knew the lesson he had meant to teach had, finally, fully sunk in.

When all that really mattered was who you were, not who you looked like, the story was always Beauty and the Beauty.

And from the looks of it, that was the only story both Roman and Darrell now saw.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank y'all for sticking through this! I appreciated all the comments, and I'm happy you enjoyed the story.  
> Sorry for such a cheesy ending : /

**Author's Note:**

> My tumblr is: https://sleepless-in-starbucks.tumblr.com/


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